#Dean Winchester and the Doctor will always be my comfort characters I love them so much

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  GIMME HALF

REQUEST : “hi!! I was wondering if you could maybe write an age gap (legal obv) with female!reader × dean winchester where the reader is like in her 20s and dean's in his 40s :) just some rough smut with choking and hair pulling and spitting (if you're comfortable with it) and dean being like super "hungry" for her, like he's waited a long time for it to happen. also lots of dirty talks cause i absolutely love them hahah :) anyways im in love with your writing and all your stories! thanks a lot! <3” — anonymous

PAIRING : dean winchester x professor!reader (f.)

CHARACTERS : miracle, sam winchester

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, enemies to lovers, age gap, voyeurism, smut, oral sex, p in v, praise kink, choking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, rough sex, spitting

WORD COUNT : 8.4k

A/N : devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — chair sex and food play. I wrote this half-asleep while listening to ASMR, like… that’s how I write most of my stories, plus, they’re always written between 00.00-02.40. Doctor Who references, ‘cause I’m a nerd. I got carried away…. Cliffhanger bc I’m cruel.

There were countless pros and cons to having houses built so close together with windows facing the same direction. 

Pros: Accidentally seeing your hot neighbour walk around naked in the living room and kitchen. Accidentally catching your hot neighbour jerk off when they think that everyone’s asleep.

Yup, she’s seen all of that and more. All from that nameless, freckled, green-eyed man next door. 

Even wholesome things, like him playing with his cute dog, babying the little rascal and spoiling it. Him cooking and baking, being wholeheartedly content with feeding it to the tall, Hazel-eyed puppy dog of a man, the tall man’s gorgeous deaf wife, and his tiny adorable son; the blue-eyed, dreamy dude in a trench coat; and that endearing young boy with blue eyes who looked like a combination of all three of the men. 

There were times where she’d seen the green-eyed man dressed as a cowboy and even a princess to entertain the little baby boy—his nephew. For sleepovers with him, he’d read him bedtime stories while being completely animated. He’d build a bunch of forts, with sheets, the couch, pillows, and some Christmas lights. He'd talk to the little boy and hold serious conversations despite neither of them being able to understand each other. He’d teach the young boy and the baby boy how to fix cars—at least he tried to. He’d pack his best friends' lunches every morning with his hair unkempt, half asleep, while sipping on some coffee. He’d even take naps with the baby, treating him as his own son. 

He’d do ridiculously endearing things, too, such as baking bread at night when he couldn’t sleep. He'd read books only when he was alone, as if he’d be made fun of by his friends, and she finally understood why. They were either romantic, erotic, or completely nerdy and abstract. He had range. He’d watch cheesy soap operas and rom-com k-dramas when he did chores. He loved to collect things such as Pokémon cards and even legos. 

There were a million things he did that she thought were cute. The windows into his house were like the screens of a television, like her favourite character, she got to see him when he’s relaxed and surrounded only by those who love him 

As for the cons, we’ll get to that…

When they first moved in, it was about three and a half years ago. She’d been visiting her family in Kansas City for her oldest brother’s birthday in June. 

When she returned to Lebanon, they had already settled down. There was a brown and beige Ford pickup truck, a black Subaru—both parked in the front, and a sleek black Impala in the driveway.

The youngest, Jack, waved at her one day when he returned with Cas after buying groceries. Then, Cas awkwardly introduced himself and Jack, and gave her the names of the other two men who were brothers, Sam is the tall one and Dean was the freckled one. 

Sam was the most social one. He’d spark up conversation with her whenever he saw her, dropping bits and pieces of information about himself, his brother, his fiancée, Cas, Jack, and Dean’s loyal dog, Miracle. 

After seven months of living together, Sam moved out with his wife, Eileen. They’d just gotten married, and they both invited her. She’d gone, the wedding was pretty, cute, and modest. Y/n had spoken to a few of their close family and friends. Dean, however, kept to himself the whole night as if he were grieving. He’d smile occasionally if any of his friends came to him, he was enthusiastic, and then he'd go back into himself.

Four months later, Sam and EIleen returned; she was pregnant. It was a boy, he’d planned on naming him after his big brother, which Y/n thought was adorable. He hadn’t told his brother, but planned on telling him the day his son was born.

Y/n could tell Dean had mixed feelings about his brother’s departure, mostly negative feelings. He loved Eileen and his nephew. But when it was just him, Cas, and Jack, he'd often drink, despite concerned, useless interventions with Cas. Unless Sam, Eileen, and his nephew were there. He’d never even glance at that top-shelf cupboard.

The good thing was that at least Dean was a happy drunk.

The first time she interacted with Dean was a few weeks after she’d returned from Kansas City, she assumed two things: his heart was closed off to new people, and he’s one hot, irritating, grumpy, sour, old man.

It was the spring semester at Kansas University. Y/n was grading her students’ creative, personal essays in the office downstairs. She was perplexed by the small percentage of her students and their inability to use proper grammar or follow the thorough, detailed checklist she created to get them to pass easily. 

Just when she thought she’d gotten great at making their lives easy, they return the shittiest, half-assed essays. She felt bad for the bad grades, but since the rest of her students managed to get perfect scores or at least proficient scores, she couldn’t just let them pass. 

Loud banging on the door startled her from reading an impressive essay. Her blood ran cold and she scrambled up from her rolling chair, ignoring that she pushed it halfway across the room. 

Her socked feet were quiet on the wooden floor, making her way quickly down the hallway until she got to the shelf where she kept her gun. She pressed it against the door and looked through the peephole, then relaxed when she saw Dean.

She was irritated by the loud knocking, though, regardless of how cute he looked when he was clearly pissed off. She opened the door and set the gun down on the table where she usually placed her keys.

“Lady, have you seen the mess you made outside?” Dean asked her, pointing behind him. She stared at him, stunned by how much prettier he looked up close. Her cheeks turned hot, but she looked past him trying to see whatever he was pointing at. 

She looked at her red Mustang parked in the front as a reminder to restock the kitchen, then looked close to where his house was. She winced at the mud and the running water from her hose going into his nice lawn.

“Shit,” she murmured, toeing her socks off before moving past Dean to turn the hose off. She got distracted by the mud and the puddles as she pulled the hose, and coiled it back where it should have been. It’s been a while since she last let her bare feet feel this beneath, the smell of wet dirt was amazing, even when it wasn’t caused by rainfall.

“Do you always do shit like this?” He asked from behind, his tone harsh. 

She frowned when she turned to look at his furious face, careful to not touch her forehead with her muddy hands when she used her wrist to move hair away from her face.  

“I’m sorry,” she apologised, tilting her head at him. He just rolled his eyes at her, then he stared at his lawn, and ran his hand down his face. “Did I do somethin’ else to piss you off?” She asked, looking around to see if there’s anything else she may have forgotten.

“One, your cat’s too damn loud, crying and meowing for my damn dog when you let him out,” he started, which made her blink in confusion. She didn’t expect something like that to get on his nerves. “And B, why the hell do you have cameras facing my place?” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, her ego being injured fueled her anger and defensiveness. “Okay, listen, Doctor Who, I said I was sorry, okay?” She could tell her words stunned him by the furrowing of his brows in bewilderment, disarming him and shutting him up. “It’s not my fault your dog likes my cat, too. And the cameras are off, they’re there to scare people, so fuck off,” she snapped before she stop herself. 

Dean scoffed at her, “fuck you.” She rolled her eyes at him this time, staring daggers into his back when he turned around to get to his home.

“If you’d fuck me, maybe you wouldnt be such an asshole.” Her snide words made him freeze. He laughed dryly and he turned to face her once more, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Pretty sure I’d still hate you, sweetheart,” he chuckled, crossing his own arms. That stung, even if she didn’t know him personally and half the time she spent romanticising him based on the little bit of information she had. “And I’d rather go fuck some other chick.” She clenched her jaw and breathed in slowly, angry heat began rising up her neck the faster her heart started to beat.

Entirely unintended, she venomously spat, “according to your brother, you haven’t been lucky enough, and you’re not going to be.”

“You talking to my brother about my sex life?” He stepped closer to her, his nostril flaring in anger. Betrayal and hurt crossed his features and she realised her mistake.

“No, just overheard him ‘cause you’re an overbearing douchebag,” she lied smoothly. Truth was, Sam and Eileen did accidentally—drunkenly—tell her how hard it was for Dean to maintain a serious relationship for more than three months. They don’t remember sharing that information. It was easy for her to casually ask about Dean’s love life and availability, masking her attraction to Dean as mere surprise as to how the younger brother got married before the older one. “Makes sense now why no one will sleep with you,” she laughed mockingly, stepping closer to him defiantly.

His face was red now, too. Angry, offended, he rolled his eyes at her smug face and body language. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“Sure, yeah, if that makes you feel better,” she snorted, patting his very nice, broad shoulder with her muddy hand as she made her back into her house. Preoccupied by the small mud-print on his beige Henley, he couldn’t get the last word in or stop her from leaving him flustered in her swampy driveway.

That was the start of a horrible relationship with her neighbour. The neighbour she had a crush on. 

He found all kinds of reasons to complain. Big and small. And she secretly did things to piss him off, occasionally sabotaging his plans. 

The thing was that deep down, she still liked him, but he made her so angry and frustrated. And it felt good to see him angry and frustrated by things she caused either on purpose or accidentally. Any attention was better than no attention.

Eventually, that all changed. The fun, the it’s-better-than-nothing feeling, it didn’t last. Fourteen months later, she stopped the cruel games and decided to avoid him completely. 

When her friends offered to take her out, she agreed, even if she wanted to stay home. If Dean was home, she made sure to never say no to them, and sometimes she’d offer to take them out. Wherever.

She’d started to grade at the cafe, library, or the diner, even if Dean went to all those places often. At least he wouldn’t say anything there around all those people. 

When she grew closer to Sam, Cas, and Jack, she’d find excuses not to go over to Dean’s when they offered either food, game nights, movie nights, or random hangouts. They started to notice too—the tension, the avoidance, the hostility—and they’d go over to her place instead, often without Dean, who’d choose to go out to avoid staying home alone.

It was awful. The rejection started to hurt, yet, he had her heart in the palm of his hand. Deep down, she knew that Dean wasn’t a bad person; he just didn’t like her.

Eventually, Dean ended his animosity, too, and everything went back to ‘normal’. She slowly started to reject offers from her friends to test the water, stayed home to grade, and didn't permit her cat to leave even if it cried for an escape. If she took him out, it was with a leash she eventually got him to get used to.

They ignored each other when they crossed paths—in the driveway, at the grocery store, at diners, at the cafe. They acted like complete strangers. She’d keep her curtains closed, at least she did for the windows that face his house. She made her presence as unnoticeable and as invisible as she could to prevent causing more damage to each other.

Then, about two months ago, on Halloween, Sam, Eileen, Cas, and Jack went to her house to collect candy. Sam made a point of staying back while the rest of them walked to where Dean was waiting—looking anywhere but at her house—to convince her to go to his and Eileen’s place for Thanksgiving. 

He was honest, cute, wide hazel eyes attempting to convince her to try and make amends with Dean. She didn’t doubt it, when he told her that Dean felt guilty, but her pride was bruised, and her heart was broken. She told Sam she would be visiting her own family for that holiday. She omitted that she’d be going to her mother’s house a few miles away, still in Lebanon. And she easily convinced her mother to let her stay the rest of the week until she had to go back to work.

Now, Christmas was near—in four days, to be exact. It wasn’t the holiday spirit that made her change her mind, it was the hurt and the exhaustion of planning her life around avoiding Dean. 

So, she called Sam, she asked if he could do anything to get Dean alone tomorrow. 

For the rest of the day, she would start to prepare everything—even though it was Dean who created the mess—she was willing to make the first move and hopefully meet him halfway. 

She couldn’t lie that she felt embarrassed by how excited she was to see Dean. She couldn't even differentiate the meaning of the butterflies in her stomach, but she powered through her fluttering heart and her shaking hands as she prepared everything before going to see him.

She considered not doing it at all, calling it quits—but the consequences of that quickly made her miserable. That would just mean more avoidance, more hiding, more changing everything about herself to make him happy.

All of this over one little misunderstanding. One bad day where her mouth ran without consulting her brain first ruined what could have otherwise been a good friendship—perhaps even a romantic relationship.

She was twenty-six and just like Dean, she hadn’t had a serious relationship since… Well, ever. The last time someone convinced her to date them was in highschool, and even before that, it took her a month—or less—to figure out she wanted nothing to do with them. She didn’t like the people she dated. She realised quickly that she didn’t even want a future with them, she didn’t even allow them to kiss her or touch her. So she figured that if she didn’t want to marry them, what was the point of wasting her time?

For so long, the first thing she thought of when she felt attracted to someone was: can I stand the thought of their touch? Can I see myself kissing them, letting them kiss me? Can I stand the thought of the fights and staying with them through thick and thin? Can I picture myself with them in the future, permanently?

The answer was always ‘no’ and the attraction died immediately after the realisation. 

With Dean, the answer was different. Not for some stupid reason, like fate, or the boy-next-door trope. No. This was reality, and the real reason was the fact that she got to see who he was before she was attracted to him. 

It was the selflessness, the love in everything that he did, the gentleness of his heart, the kindness that radiated from him, and the ease in the way he did chores, the way he made his friends laugh, his playfulness, the loyalty, the way he was clearly protective. 

It was the open windows of her house into his open windows that let her see through him, down to his very beautiful core. It was the lack of hidden things, the openness of his soul because he felt safe, unwatched. It was real because Cas, Jack, and Sam were proof that even though Dean wasn’t perfect, he was worth it.

The Doctor did say once: the good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant. 

For the first time, she was willing to take a chance.

She smoothed down the silky emerald-green dress. It was pretty, flowing down her body perfectly, stopping at the middle of her calves…. Actually, now that she looked at herself in the mirror, her curls perfectly maintained, the light touch of makeup, the heels… was it too much?

She ignored those anxious thoughts and made sure she had everything she needed and everything that she prepared before stepping out into the cold.

The spaghetti straps didn’t stop the cold, but the heat of her nervousness at least did something as she walked up to his door and waited after knocking gently. 

When he opened the door, he was stunned to see her.

“What?” He asked bluntly. 

She could tell that the way she was dressed caught him off guard. His eyes moved from her face, up to her hair, back down to the boxes in her hands, and lower to her feet. 

“I’ve got pie,” she said the first thing her mind thought of. Yes, it was blunt, yes, it disarmed him further… It was not smooth, but Dean looked behind him, and then he looked at her once more while biting his lip before opening the door wider, and stepping out of the way for her to enter. 

She exhaled shakily as he scratched the back of his neck. Out of habit, she slipped out of her heels before stepping inside his home, planting her bare feet on the soft, long rug he had. He kindly, wordlessly, took her heels from outside and placed them on the shoe rack he had inside before shutting the door behind her.

She felt so… warm. Finally, she was inside the place she longed to be in. Right where Dean was. Along the walls there were dozens of pictures, but she didn’t go too far, she waited for him.

She felt his presence behind her and it made her shiver, but she couldn’t bring herself to look back at him. Instead, she stared at photos of him with Cas, Sam, Jack, and other people she hadn’t met. Women and Men. Dean was smiling in all of them. And in a large majority of them, they were looking at him while he looked at the camera. 

What a funny thing. 

“Here,” he said from behind her, his deep voice sounded soft, gentle, unlike the last time they spoke to each other. It made her shudder. “Let me help.” She slowly braced herself when she turned around, staring into his beautiful green eyes, illuminated magically by Christmas lights. 

“Thanks,” she whispered, carefully loosening her grip on the objects in her hand for him to take what he wanted—which was everything. 

She stepped to the side when he murmured, “no problem,” and started to walk off to the kitchen. She followed him slowly, took a look around, respectfully, curiously, just when she heard the clicking of nails and the thump of paws on wooden floors, and the bark of his dog headed in their direction. 

“Miracle,” Dean grunted, setting everything down on the table, “not inside.” While the fluffy dog did stop its excited running, his enthusiasm was not lost as he wagged his tail, and playfully got down on his stomach in front of her feet. Still on his belly, Miracle approached Y/n slowly, paws and tongue at her toes, as if testing the waters. 

“Hey,” she greeted softly as she squatted slowly and laughed quietly, gently scratching Miracle’s head as he nudged her hand with his wet nose, staring up at her with adorably wide eyes—much like Sam did. “You’re so cute,” she cooed, her heart warming up when Miracle barked quietly.

He then jumped up and turned towards Dean, who was watching them—perplexed, happy, conflicted. 

“You were asleep,” Dean scolded, but sweetly took Miracle’s head in his hands and kissed him between his ears. Miracle whined and stepped away, sitting in front of Dean as if saying ‘I’ll be good if you let me stay’. “Whatever,” Dean groaned with a smile, which made Miracle happy, because he laid his cheek on his paw and stared up at Dean, resting.

Now, it was awkward. 

Dean caught her staring at him, her expression inquisitive. She cleared her throat awkwardly, but she couldn’t form words. She only now noticed that he was wearing a faded black shirt and hotdog pyjama pants. 

“So…” Dean began instead, “pie.” It wasn’t any better, but it’s as she always said: it was better than nothing. 

“Yes,” she confirmed, “strawberry… you weren’t getting ready for bed…?” She inquired, tipping her chin in the direction of his attire. 

“Not to sleep,” he reassured her, taking a few steps toward the cupboards to pull out two plates, glass cups, and then some utensils from the lower drawer. “Why are you doing this?” Dean asked quietly from where he was across the kitchen, everything still in his hands.

“I deserve better that’s why,” she snapped. He blinked at her, guilty, but she paused and took a deeper breath. Careful to not smear her eyeliner, she rubbed her temples instead. She reached behind her to wrap her ankle around the leg of a chair to pull it out and sit down. “Sorry, I don’t like… being angry,” she breathed out, looking out his kitchen window into her dark living room. She switched the Christmas lights off. “It's very stressful because I…” She turned to look at him and forgot her words as he came closer. 

He looked cuter in person and prettier, still. Three years and nothing has changed, he still had her heart right in his hand. 

“Why?” He pressed, placing everything down on the table in front of her. Looking up at him felt intimidating, so she averted her gaze. He was much older than she was… it made her… feel dumb. See-through. Like he could figure her out in seconds. 

“Because I’m friends with your friends,” she admitted without looking at him, then she reached out to arrange the plates, cups, and utensils. He sat down thoughtfully, and watched her unstack the small boxes she brought over. 

“You’re doing this for them,” he laid out flatly, but he took a seat next to her and stared at her. His eyes on her made her self-conscious, flustered. She bet he could see everything, all the ugly and the weird in her.

“I’m doing this for me,” she corrected him gently, “I just want to be happy,” she sighed, removing the plastic wrap she placed over the pie she baked. “Is that selfish?” She wondered out loud, taking the knife, she stared at it. 

“No,” Dean sighed, wrapping his hand around hers to take the knife. She inhaled sharply at the warmth of his touch, his calloused palms brushing against the back of her hand, sending warmth over her chest, pressing into her wrist with her heart excitedly pounding against her ribs.

She released the knife into his hold, trying to hide how much he affected her, but she doubted she could fully do that with the Christmas lights exposing the blush she could feel on her face. She could feel her veins pumping blood faster, caught up with the heavy beating of her heart. If he looked down at her neck, he could probably see it in her veins.

She looked away, down at Miracle who was still peacefully laying on his belly, and Dean looked away towards the beautiful pie to start slicing into it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, taking her plate to give her the first slice. She looked up at Dean, taking the plate with a generous slice of strawberry pie. 

“I wanted to be the first to say it…” She complained playfully, trying to maintain eye contact with him, but his beauty was intimidating, forcing her to look away, “soon as my ego stopped being sensitive,” she added. 

Dean laughed softly, placing his own slice on his plate. The sound of his laugh made her smile, her stomach flipped with elation, at the crinkles by his eyes. Her breathy exhale made him look at her.

“Well, I’m forty-four, my ego’s been bruised enough times,” he told her, “I don’t care much for it when…” he trailed off and chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. She bit her lip, too, trying not to stare too long at his pretty mouth. 

“Well, thanks,” she murmured, her jaw twitching as she looked away from him. 

“I’d consider all this an apology,” he told her, gazing at her as she opened two rectangular boxes. She smiled, shaking her head. She pulled out a bottle of homemade eggnog along with a decorated jar filled with white frosting, and a small container with crushed peppermint candy. “This isn’t… poisoned, right?” He teased, still watching her while she opened the bottle of rum eggnog, she tilted her head at him, amused. “Just making sure… you did make all this…” he trailed off, impressed.

“Taste the pie,” she encouraged as she started making the drinks.

“You’re just trying to shut me up,” he chuckled gruffly, but he picked up his fork and started to dig in. The strawberry filling barely touched his tongue when he moaned, she watched him not even begin to chew. His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, savouring the pie. 

It made her blush, but she focused on covering the rim of the cups he brought with the whiskey frosting she made and the peppermint candy shavings before filling it with eggnog.

“You made the frosting, too?” He asked, tipping his head towards the jar. His mouth was full, some strawberry filling dripped down the corner of his mouth, but he picked it up with his tongue. She licked her lips, trying to stop herself from breathing airily, and passed him the eggnog with a nod and slid the jar of frosting towards him to serve herself some eggnog. 

Dean dipped his finger into the frosting, collecting a large amount before wrapping his lips around his finger to suck the frosting off. She forced herself to look away from how hot he looked and ate her own slice of pie instead.

“I’ve seriously been missing out,” he murmured regretfully. “I was real childish,” he told her, “I never should’ve gotten pissed over… everything-”

“Dean,” she interrupted him, giving him a sheepish smile, “you already apologised and I forgive you. Besides, I did things, too.. on purpose… so, I’m sorry.” She pursed her lips and took a sip from her eggnog, swiping her tongue along the sweet frosting.

“You did things on purpose?” He repeated, a smirk on his face. She breathed out a laugh and nodded bashfully. “Why?” he wondered, leaning into her curiously, subtly moving his plate of food towards her. She considered being blunt, but she chose to test him instead.

“Probably the same reason you got pissed at everything I did and didn’t do,” she laughed, pulling a piece of strawberry out of the pie to put it in her mouth.

“I doubt that,” Dean muttered, picking up his own drink, and taking a large gulp. She eyed him closely, her eyes becoming hooded when he licked across his lips after drinking to collect the thin layer of sweetened alcohol on his mouth. 

“What was your reason then?” She wondered flirtatiously, her voice low and seductive. She pushed her plate away with her arm., and mimicked his body language, scooting forward in the chair. 

She watched as his eyes darkened and his jaw clenched, his hand tightening around his fork before he dropped it. She’d never quite been stared at that way before, but it suddenly—almost, made her laugh. Her legs felt weak, her stomach heavy, almost fooling her into thinking she couldn’t get up, but she did.

With a rapid heart and shaky knees, she pushed her chair back, and Miracle lifted his head in alarm. Dean leaned back in his chair, sliding his palms up his thighs, and watched hungrily as she lifted her dress up her legs, squeezing in front of him and part of the table to sit on his lap. 

“Seems like we’ve both been missing out on a lot of stuff,” she whispered, her stomach fluttering for a variety of reasons, but mostly from excitement. He bit his lip, eyes twinkling as he placed his hands slowly on her thighs. She sank her teeth down on her lip, too, breathing heavily when his hands began sliding up her thighs, lifting her dress higher, and higher.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, continuing to move her dress up until his hands were wrapped around her hips where he could realise she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “I thought I should tell you, before I ruin you,” he rasped, tightening his hold on her hips.

“Fuck,” she moaned, moving forward in his lap until their hips were pressed together. She brought her hands into his hair, and pulled it gently, bringing her mouth close to his, but she never kissed him. She breathed against his lips and when he leaned forward to kiss her, she pulled back teasingly.

“You’re seriously gonna make me wait?” He whispered, slowly rolling his hips up into her, his hard cock pressing into her wet core. She gasped softly against his mouth and laughed breathlessly.

“You feel good,” she praised, flushing as she ground against him harder.

“I’d feel better inside you,” he smirked, sliding one of his hands farther up her dress, his warm palm flattening up her stomach reverently, stopping beneath her breasts..

“I bet,” she moaned, arching into his touch before finally pressing her tinted lips against his. Dean moaned softly against her mouth, pressing against her hungrily, then lifted her up, carefully moving his plate and cup aside to lay her down on the table. 

“Miracle, bed,” Dean ordered when he pulled away from her lips. The dog obediently stood up and excitedly made his way to where Dean’s room was. Dean kissed her once more, drawing her attention away from Miracle and back to him.

She’d never been kissed the way Dean kissed her or touched the way Dean touched her. His hands were everywhere, testing, learning, skillful. He scratched her skin sending sparks down to her already soaked core, kneading her body roughly until she moaned against his mouth. He squeezed her and made her wet. He dug his blunt nails into her and made her nerves ignite. His hands smoothed across her, sailing over her body like she were an ocean and he was a sailor. 

He was desperate, devouring her mouth with his tongue and his teeth, putting his all into the kiss, licking her lips, teasing the inside of her mouth, brushing against her warm tongue. He yearned to memorise the taste of her mouth, to feel close to her, pressing and moaning against her the way he’d done when he ate the pie and frosting. He nibbled on her lips, tugging, biting, claiming, taking the air from her lungs and pulling away at the perfect time. 

He rolled his hips into her frantically and finally started to move away from her now-swollen lips, the colour of her raspberry tint robbed and replaced by the redness of his kiss. 

He dragged his teeth teasingly along her jaw and licked his way down her neck, pressing his stubbled face into her neck, kissing and sucking softly, searching. She rolled her head to the side, giving him all the access he needed, until finally, she moaned loudly when he sucked into her sweetspot. He smiled against her throat, feeling her take handfuls of his shirt, her hips wiggling impatiently beneath him.

He kissed lower still, then back up to the other side of her neck, and bit her collarbones, kissing every inch of her skin, her shoulders and her sternum. She loved every second of it and slipped her hands beneath his shirt, touching and scratching his skin, pulling him closer as he bucked into her bare core.

“Did you know your shirt was see-through when we first met?” He whispered into her cleavage. She laughed and replied with a breathless ‘no’. “Well.. your tits on display, legs bare in those tiny shorts, all pissed as hell… it was hot,” he chuckled, lowering the thin straps of her dress until the top started to reveal her breasts. 

“Is that why you jerked off that night?” She asked, gripping his hair and tugging hard. He grunted and laughed, staring into her lustful eyes.

“You saw?” He teased, bringing his hand to her breast, squeezing roughly. “The answer’s yes.. And everytime after that, it was also ‘cause of you,” Dean confessed, “couldn’t stop thinking about you, every day and every night. I thought I hated you, but I guess I just needed to fuck you.” 

She chuckled, gripping the hem of his shirt, dragging it up his body as he latched onto her nipple. She hummed softly, tugging hard at his hair, in complete bliss as he wrapped his mouth around the bud, licking, sucking, and biting until she whimpered for him to give her more—which was impossible. He moved onto her other breast, savouring her warm skin with his hotter mouth, tugging her neglected nipple with his fingers, twisting and pinching. 

“Please,” she moaned, yanking his hair so he’d pull away. Dean growled against her flesh and bit down hard on her breast, before pulling away, drawing a mewl from her of his name. 

“You could be nicer,” he muttered, allowing her to lift his shirt up off his body, but he continued to kiss her breasts, sucking gently around the flesh to leave red marks. He lifted her feet up on the table and pressed her thighs close to her chest, opening her up to admire her soaked sex.

“We’re long past nice, pretty boy,” she teased blushing and biting her lip when he stood up straight. She didn’t look at him, too insecure to watch him as he brought his hand to the inside of her thighs, teasing her vulva.

“You think I’m pretty?” He grinned, circling her entrance, moaning at copious amounts of arousal on his fingers. “So wet… you that needy for my cock inside you?” He asked smugly. 

She looked at him now, heat flooding up her face at his obscene words. Before she could say anything about it, the tattoo on his chest drew her attention away from the adorable pride on his face.

“You’re a hunter,” she stated, stunned, blinking at him with a smile. He looked down at himself then at her, speechless. She lifted her hips and hitched her dress up higher to reveal her ribcage where she had the same tattoo, twice as small.

“You’re a professor,” he remarked with arousal on his face, pushing his finger into her. He lowered himself down her body and wrapped his arm around her legs, holding her open as he breathed warmly against her wet cunt.

Before she could close her legs to him demurely, Dean dove in, his mouth hot on her pussy. He ate her out the same way he kissed her, teeth making her whimper, his tongue parting and tasting, picking up the flavour of her wetness as she moaned. 

He salivated on her, humming in satisfaction while he sucked her clit into his mouth while he fingered her. Her hands found his hair once more, pulling hard and almost painfully, but his cock jumped each time inside the thin material of his pyjamas. Dean added a second finger as he moaned against her swollen clit, knuckles deep, pressing against the front of her textured walls, drawing silent moans from her, making her squirm more and more. 

“Fuck,” she panted, “you’re so good,” she praised, flexing her hand above his head before gripping at the honey strands. He slurped lewdly, devouring her pussy, squeezing her hips desperately holding her close to his face while she pushed him harder against her cunt. “Dean… I’m close,” she moaned, closing her legs around his head. 

He moaned again, adding another finger, shoving deep as he circled her swollen clit with his tongue, drawing figures on her clit possessively. She gasped loudly and cried out his name, tensing up when she orgasmed, her walls clamping down on his three fingers. The rapture of her orgasm seemed endless as he continued to tongue at her clit, it made her writhe uncontrollably, and he smirked against her pussy.

Her whiny laugh and the way she squeezed his head to stop him made him chuckle, and he tapped her thigh once he pulled his fingers from within her pulsing walls. She released him, melting into the table while he licked his fingers clean of her release.

“You taste good,” he told her earnestly, “so fucking good.” She bit her lip, giving him a look of disbelief. He narrowed his eyes at her, leaning down to lick a long stripe up her pussy, then down, pushing his tongue past her clenching, wet hole. 

“Dean, fucking…” she moaned, “oh, God, why does that feel good?” She snickered, then he pulled away hovering above her. She opened her eyes to his smug face, his clean fingers squeezed her cheeks roughly until she opened her mouth. She furrowed her brows, whining out with her hands around his wrist so he’d release, but she shut up when he spit in her mouth.

“Taste yourself,” he ordered, licking his lips. Her pupils dilated as she looked into his eyes, the tangy taste of herself made her mouth water and she swallowed. “D’you know how hot you are?” He asked rhetorically, kissing her roughly once more, ravenous and stopped only when he felt her hands pushing his pants down his legs.

“I want you, Dean,” she whispered against his mouth, biting his lip before returning the passion of his kiss.

“Where?” He asked teasingly, wrapping his arm around her waist, he sat her up on the table and gently held her face in his hands, before releasing her to strip completely. 

“I want you inside me,” she told him coquettishly, hopping off the table to slowly let her dress pool around her feet. “I want to ride you, to feel you stretch me open…” she walked towards him, watching him completely aroused, a look of pleasant surprise on his face, “I want you to fill me up, and make me cum on your cock…” she licked her lips, staring down at his cock, erect and leaking precum. “... I’ve never seen a dick this nice,” she told him, wrapping her hand around the base and stepping closer to him.

He grunted, “suck it then.” She laughed through her nose, releasing his cock to fondle his balls. He moaned, stumbling slightly.  “I’ve been wanting to shut you up with my cock in your mouth,” he told her, a smirk on his face, “now, I’m just thinking how pretty you’ll look with your lips wrapped around me.” Dean reached up and curled his fingers around the back of her neck. 

She looked behind him, removed her hand, and tipped her head to the chair, “sit.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, kicking the chair towards him like she had earlier, then he sat, legs wide and tempting. “You’re sexier than you were in my imagination,” he told her, watching her get down between his legs, kissing his thighs while looking up at him through her curled lashes. 

“Keep talkin’,” she grinned up at him, taking his heavy cock in her hand once more. Dean gave her a sexy look, smug and aroused.

“I wanna finish in your mouth,” he told her, “want to see you swallow my load.” Pleased, she moved forward and began kissing and licking the length of his cock, teasingly and experimentally feeling the velvety, veiny texture against her hand, tongue, and lips. “I want to hear you choke on my cock, and see what you look like with tears in your eyes as I fuck your pretty face.” She moaned softly, intrigued by the description of his fantasy. 

She dipped her tongue into the slit, moaning at the taste of his precum, drooling over the soft head of his cock before sucking him into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he moaned, tangling his fingers in her hair. She slowly took him deeper, pulling him out of her hot mouth teasingly, then swallowing inch by inch of his hard cock. “You’re so good at that, baby,” he panted, letting her take her time at her own pace, but he gripped her hair tightly. “Don’t stop,” he moaned, staring into her eyes as she continued to take his cock, bobbing her head, not stopping until he hit the back of her throat. She swallowed around him, and he bucked his hips up, releasing a whispered curse, attempting to keep his eyes open to watch her suck him off.

She got comfortable between his legs, taking his freehand to put it in her hair. He took her hair, put it together, and waited for her permission before slowly lifting his hips, pushing his cock slowly into her throat. When she gagged, he slowly pulled back, then pushed back into her, lips parted, releasing quick breaths. 

Eventually, he started to fuck her face in earnest, lifting his hip up off the chair, pulling her hair hard to guide her on and off his dick. Her spit dribbled down her chin in a mixture of his precum. She swallowed as much as she could, moaning and blinking tears that tickled her eyes and her jaw. 

“You look so fucking…” he chocked on a moan, “so damn sexy.” 

She ignored the soreness of her jaw, relaxing it as best as she could as he fucked her near mercilessly. Her pussy throbbed with every sound of his pleasure, clit aching for attention at the way he gazed down at her with burning desire, but she refused to touch herself, enjoying the build-up, the desperation for another orgasm, for his touch. 

He throbbed in her mouth, turning to mush beneath her mouth. He even began to whimper and moan her name, praises and dirty words becoming scarce in attempts to hold back his orgasm, edging himself with her mouth. It didn’t take long for him to hold her with her nose against his pelvis breathlessly. 

He pulled her off his cock, and released her hair to wipe tears tenderly from her hot cheeks with his thumbs, trying to get his mind off the near-pleasure of her mouth around his cock while catching his breath. 

“Yummy,” she rasped, pulling a breathless laugh from him. She wiped her chin with her shoulder and smiled up at him, slowly getting up on her knees to get rid of the ache of sitting on her legs.

She got up, leaning back against the table, admiring him in his red, flushed, somewhat sweaty state. His hair was a mess from her hands and he had a blush around his neck to his ears. She knew the hardness of his body accounted for the fact that he was a hunter, as well as the scars she felt beneath her soft hands, bite marks, bullet wounds, and healed slashes.

“Come closer,” she told him and he laughed, bringing himself and the chair closer, stopping when she sat on his thighs, fixing herself over his strong thighs. “Gonna cum if I tease you?” She asked, tapping the head of his cock. It twitched instantly and he moaned.

“Depends,” he replied breathily, sliding his hands up her body. She hummed softly, spreading her legs, positioning his cock near her soppy folds.

“On what?” She cackled playfully, parting her folds with one hand, circling her clit with her fingers. He watched her lustfully, the wetness that made her pussy shine coated her fingers.

“How wet and warm you feel on my cock,” he replied truthfully. He grabbed her hand and moved it out of the way anyway, taking his cock to push it between her folds, pressing the tip against her clit. 

“Fuck, Dean,” she moaned softly, grasping his shoulders, “you feel… I need you,” she whimpered, rolling her hips along the length of his cock. He moaned with her, moving her hips closer to him, her wetness coating his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart…” Dean moaned, watching her lean back against the table, positioning the soft head of his cock to her entrance. Completely enthralled, he watched himself slip inside her, and she watched him, biting her lip hard in concentration, the stretch of her walls around him almost painful. “Fuck… I can feel how bad you need me… I need you just as bad,” he panted, flexing his hands on her thighs, desperately trying not to thrust up into her warmth. He dug his nails into her flesh, his head tipping back, his hips rolling up.

“Dean,” she moaned again, starting to lift herself up and down his cock, reaching up to cup her breast. “Shit, you feel amazing,” she breathed out, grinding her hips against his until he was fully inside her. 

“You okay?” He asked, one of hands drifting up to knead her breast comfortingly. She nodded, buried her fingers in his hair and brought him in for a kiss as she bent her knees, and tucked her feet in between his thighs.

“I could cum like this,” she mumbled against his lips. His chuckle rumbled through his chest and he shook his head, her pussy clenched at the sound and she started to lift herself up again.

“Don’t worry,” he told her, sucking on his lip momentarily. “I’ll make you cum so hard…” He paused to moan, thrusting up into her slowly, meeting her hip. “...you’ll never want to fuck anyone else,” he promised her, building up the pace of his thrusts until she stopped moving with him altogether, letting him fuck up into her needy cunt. 

“You’ll only wanna be fucked by me,” he continued, watching her lean back with her elbow on the table, her hands roaming his warm body, “and I’ll be there, ready to fuck you hard.” He looked over her shoulder, at the jar of frosting. “Pounding into your sweet cunt,” he swore breathlessly, reaching behind her, dipping his fingers to gather frosting, “makin’ you beg, makin’ you impossibly wet.” He smeared frosting over her nipples, over her collarbone, her sternum, until he had no more while she moaned his name needily. 

“Makin’ you feel things you’ve never felt before.” He gripped her hip with frosting-coated fingers, leaning forward to lick and suck the whiskey frosting from her body. “I’ll fill you up as many times as you want,” he vowed, smoothing her hand up her back, into her hair once more, pulling until she whined his name. “I’ll fuck you wherever you want.”

Her pussy continued to gush over Dean’s cock the more he talked—his breathless, husky voice taking her over the edge. Each rough pull of her hair made her mewl and whimper as she rolled her hips desperately against his. 

“Dean, please,” she whispered, scratching down his back, digging marks into his skin the harder and faster he thrusted into her. Loud skin slapping, the wet sound of her pussy being penetrated, with every push of his cock in and out of her, squelching and driving her crazy. She dug her nails into her palm, making obscene sounds that made her self-conscious.

“I’ll fuck you all over your house, all over mine.” Another moan of his name, another rough pull of her hair. “I’ll fuck you in my car, in your car, anywhere and all over town.” He pulled away from her sticky chest, licked his lips at the sight of her, so she screwed her eyes shut. She felt a warm pool of wetness on her pelvic bone, opened her eyes to him spitting between their bodies, watching his saliva drip down her folds to her clit. 

She’d never heard of or experienced sex quite this raw and dirty.

“I’ll make you scream my name, make you forget how to talk, how to walk…” She leaned back into him, panting into his ear, keeping him close while rubbing her clit. He yanked her hair, forcing her to look at him. 

“Dean…”

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered, closing his eyes, he breathed against her lips, “and I want you forever.”

As he promised, she cried out his name when she came, squeezing his cock hard, coating him in her release. He grunted her name, cursing loudly as he came inside her, his hot seed spurting into her, filling her as he said he would. 

He circled his arms around her as she writhed once more, releasing her hair as she put her arms around his neck, panting and catching her breath until the pleasure subsided.

“I want all of that,” she murmured after a few moments of silence, kissing his cheek. He squeezed her and moved back, bewildered. He moved hair from her face and tilted his head at her, drawn to her nakedness, her flushed beauty. “First, I want to shower…” Slowly, carefully, she climbed off his lap, her legs shaky, her pussy releasing the mixture of their pleasure. 

“That’s a good start,” he told her softly. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled when he stood up from the chair and looked around at the mess in the kitchen. “No one’s coming home anytime soon… thanks to Sammy…” Dean trailed off, smoothing his hand over his head to fix his hair.

“Thanks to me,” she came clean with a shy smile, bringing his gaze up to hers. His eyes twinkled and he laughed loudly, tugging her towards him again by her arm, his lips pressing against hers.

➥ sempiternal

taglist

@rominaszh @livingdeadmak @lanassmarty @murdockscumsock @zepskies @candy-coated-misery0731 @stxrgazer03 @epsilonsagittarii @lyarr24 @spnfamily-j2 @globetrotter28 @deansbbyx @lickmybawls @jackles010378 @winchstrdean @deanwinchestersgirl87 @the-achievementhunter @deanfreakingwinchester @k-slla @madzzz0797 @laylaackles @fanfic-n-tabulous @kristophalis @mrlonelycat @taylortotsworld @evznackles

main masterlist

dean winchester masterlist

kinkmas2023 masterlist

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO DEANBRAINROTWRITINGS 

do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[winchester-inthe-tardis221b]

Dean Winchester (Supernatural)

The Doctor (8,9,10,11 and 12) (Doctor Who)

Clint barton/ Hawkeye (Marvel)

Obi-Wan Kenobi (Star Wars)

Percy de Rolo the Third (The Legend of Vox Machina)

Not tagging anyone since I barely know any person on this site.

five comfort characters, five tags

(had to start a new thread, got too long) thanks for tagging me @loulooser ooh i like this okay - nick nelson (osemanverse) - aled last (osemanverse) - peeta mellark (hunger games) - linh song (keeper of the lost cities) - xavier hawthorne (the inheritance games)

tagging @lyssified @mister3127 @raeny-nights-and-faery-lights @weirdo09 @charliethinks

[jollyhunter]

⚝ "Well, what we have here is a failure to communicate. 'Cause we're not trapped out here with you. You're trapped out here with us." ⚝

𝕎𝕖𝕝𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕥���� 𝕞𝕪 𝕡𝕒𝕘𝕖 ♡ Jolly │ she/her │ 29 │ Taurus │ INFJ │ friendly, joyful, helpful, curious, anxious and silly yapping lass

Currently I write mostly for Jensen Ackles characters (fluff, smut, fun, angst) I post 18+ content │MDNI !

Requests are currently: Closed (You can still hit me with an idea though! I just don't have the time to write them atm as I'm fully invested in the advent caldendar challenge and got a lot going on)

✩ 𝔽𝕒𝕟𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕤 MASTERLIST ✩

Dean Winchester (x fem!reader │established couple) Morning Petting ⚝ │( Smut, fluff │ One shot │Words 1,700 ) Thanksgiving Part 1 - Part 2 ⚝ │Dean Winchester at your family Thanksgiving ( Fluff, tiny bit smut│Imagines ) CURRENTLY ONGOING Kinky Advent Calendar Masterlist ⚝ │Dean and you are in a longterm relationship and try spicing up your sex life throughout December ( Smut, fluff, fun │ Series │ 16 / 24 parts )

Beau Arlen / Dean Winchester The Broken Circle ⚝ │ ( Beau!Dean x hunter!reader │ AU "Supernatural" x "Big Sky" crossover, set after S15 of SPN │ Angst, Tissue material │Words ~4,050 │ One Shot Thanks so much for all the positive feedback! A sequel is planned ♡ )

✩ ℂ.𝕒𝕚 MASTERLIST ✩

Dean Winchester Your PTSD therapy partner [ClosedOff!Dean] ⚝ │ Dean's forced to go to therapy for his PTSD and nightmares about his time in Hell. And he hates it. But then you're introduced as his therapy partner. Can you gain his trust? Your first night at the bunker [Comfort!Dean and Civillian!User] ⚝ │ The boys take you in after a demon possessed your father and killed your entire family trying to get to you. You have nothing left, the demon's still after you and nightmares plague your sleep. For now, the bunker is your new home. The images of your dead family keep you sleepless tonight, so you sneak out to the bunker's kitchen - where you bump into Dean. (He'll make you hot cocao ♡) NEW ! Family Christmas dinner [Bf!Dean] ⚝ │Dean picks you up for your family Christmas dinner to join you as your partner! (fluff, flirty and sweet - roughly inspired by this imagine) Tangerine - Bullet Train Rivalry Team [Hitman!User - Mission / Flirty] ⚝ │ You're riding shotgun while Tan's driving through the traffic of Tokyo, looking for your target. So far everything's gone sideways, which led to you two getting teamed up to get the bloody job done, even though you are rivals.

Open for requests! ⚝ │ I love to create detailed bots lol, just hit me with an idea!

Do not steal, copy or repost any of my content please. I will find you and hunt you down.

✩ Tidbits about me ✩

⚝ I’m relatively new to writing fanfiction, and English is not my native language, so I’m still learning! I’m always open for writing buddies or just sharing and discussing ideas or ya know, yapping about SPN or The Boys etc. !!

⚝ Likes: foxes (my spirit animal ♡), rain, oldtimers, 70s/80s rock, cozy lights (candles and fairy lights ufff), pine trees, lore and monsters ⚝ Fav Themes: fluff, smut, funfiction, angst, action and found family, comfort (is that a theme?)

⚝ Main Fandoms: Supernatural, MCU, The Boys, maybe a little Top Gun / Maverick and Bullet Train 'cuz I won't ever let go of those movies / characters

⚝ Fav Movies / Series: SPN, MCU, The Boys, TLoU, Doctor Who, Good Omens, Umbrella Academy, Godzilla, Top Gun / Maverick, Bullet Train, Gladiator (I+II) - and basically anything with Jensen Ackles and Pedro Pascal ♡

⚝ No Go's: No wincest, no proshipping, no rape or glorifying abuse etc.!

Please, please, always stay respectful and be kind! If you don’t feel comfortable or don’t like what you see, you may always close the tab ♡ Spread love not hate ♡

[impala-dreamer]

Yes, it's that time again. As an oversized turkey thaws in your fridge and Mariah Carey starts doing her vocal warm ups, it's time to think about gifting something special to those you love.

Why not give the fanfic lover in your life a custom written fanfiction designed and starring Them?!

That's right, I'm opening up my commissions for a limited time this holiday season!

Imagine the joy on your bestie's face as they read about riding in the Impala with Dean and singing along to their favorite song! The magical feeling they'll get when Bucky rescues them and his prickly exterior softens at their touch... Or hell- get one for yourself and read the story you've always dreamed about but couldn't find ;)

So many possibilities and stories to tell!

Read on for more info and please, reblog to spread the word. <3

How does it work?

You send me a message and we discuss what type of story you'd like. If I think I can do it properly for you- it's a go!

You provide details about the character (you, someone else, multiples). Stories can be OFC, Actual People, or Reader Insert.

You leave me alone for a few days and when I return, you'll get a PDF file of your fic (usually including custom art) emailed right to you ready for gifting!

What fandoms are you writing for lately?

Any fandom can be negotiated provided I am familiar with it and feel like I would do the details justice. Ex: I've watched football, but I'm not gonna write a great football story bc I just don't get it. ;)

Fandoms I have written for and am comfy with:

Supernatural, Supernatural RPF (Mostly all ships!)

The Boys, The Boys RPF

The Walking Dead, TWD RPF

Marvel (Cap, Bucky, Thor, Wanda, Sam), Marvel RPF (Evans & Stan)

Criminal Minds

The Hunger Games

The Magicians (Ships too!)

The Winchesters, The Winchesters RPF

Daisy Jones & The Six (Billy Dunne)

Doctor Who (NuWho, minus 13)

Random RPF Actors/Singers

What Kind of Story Can You Do?

Anything. No, wait. I'm afraid you don't believe me. I mean... ANY T H I N G. You want hardcore smut that boarders on problematic? I'm in. You want the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed and would make Hallmark movies cringe? I got you. Angst? Dark stuff? General? Literally Anything you want. I only have one or two things I'm not comfortable with but that can all be discussed in private, and honestly, after almost 8 years doing this, no one's ever come close to asking for them so you're 1000% good to ask for whatever.

What's the bottom line here?

Well, your story, which will be anywhere from 1,000 - 20,000 words depending on how wordy I get, will be a flat rate of $20. This includes my full attention to your story from start to finish, accompanying art, specific detail inclusion, and an emailed PDF file that you can print out or delete, or whatever you want. It's yours.

I do not write for word counts, only the story. If your complete story can be told in 1k words, that's great. If it takes another 40,000 and we end up with a novel, that's great for you and I won't charge you any more for it! I'm more worried about giving you the best story I can than worrying about word counts.

Commissions are open now until Christmas Eve Eve (Dec 23, 2023).

I will only take FIVE commissions at any time, so best to get to me first. First come, first serve, then I go down the line.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask me. I'm not scary.

You can also check out my Tumblr Masterlist for examples of my work incase you're unsure. And... just a reminder, Patrons get a discount!

Much love and wishes for an awesome end of the year,

Beka <3

FYI and Signal Boost, perhaps?:

2023 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@aditimukul @agirlwithdemonblood @akshi8278 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @charred-angelwings @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @djs8891 @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @deansyahtzee @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @iamsapphine @idreamofdeanie @ilsawasanacrobat @impalaspixie @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @justcallmeasmodeus @kazsrm67 @kittenofdoomage @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @mariekoukie6661 @maggiegirl17 @pandaxo79 @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @roseblue373 @sacriceria @samwellwinchesterthebrave @sexyvixen7 @spideysimpossiblegirl @spnexploration @stevekempscocktails @the-wounded-healer05  @because-imma-lady-assface

[fallingintolife]

Hold Onto Me, I'm A Little Unsteady

Request @trexrambling : Always good to see you on my dash ❤️ For a request…what about - The reader being seriously injured on a hunt to the point where she may not walk again. All the angst and potential comfort that comes with that. My main man Dean, please!

Summary: When your entire life, entire identity is taken from you in a moment; what do you do?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Semi-graphic description of wound, traumatic injury, ANGST, reader is diagnosed as a paraplegic, this is a really angst filled fic so please heed the warnings guys 💕

Word Count: 1,896

A/N: First of all thank you so so so much for giving me this request @trexrambling . I really loved the challenge of diving into these characters and really trying my best to depict their feelings accurately.

With that being said, I personally have never gone through this injury I did do a lot of research however if I did portray anything inaccurately please don't be afraid to let me know.

Thank you again so so much for this request. I really hope I did it justice and that you enjoy it.

Sending all the love, hugs, and positive vibes

💕🥰✨

Quiet. Everything was so quiet. Dean hated it. There was no laughter, no talking, no you singing and dancing around the Bunker, no you taunting Sam about how you beat him home from the morning run; just quiet. You'd only been home from the hospital for two days now, after you being there for the last two weeks. You still weren't speaking to anyone, or at all. The last time he had heard your voice was when you were sobbing, screaming, begging that the doctors were lying. All Dean could do was hold you as you cried and attempt to comfort you, all while drowning in his own guilt.

You, Sam, and himself had been on a routine hunt, (to be honest though was any hunt ever routine?) After loring the werewolf into the woods with it chasing you as bait, (which Dean had been against from the beginning). Dean had just shot it, when as it fell, you tried to dodge it however, you over corrected and fell- straight onto a broken tree branch. He still couldn't get the scene out of his mind; the gasp you made when you fell, the tree branch sticking out of your lower abdomen, the panicked look in your eyes as you reached for him with blood dripping from lips as you continued to gasp for air.

As soon as Sam saw what happened he called an ambulance as Dean tried to keep you calm. Luckily it arrived pretty fast, even though it didn't feel that way. After a four and a half hour surgery was when the doctor led the boys to your room and had told them your diagnosis. You had suffered a spinal cord injury to your lower lumbar vertebrae. They wouldn't be sure until you were awake what the full amount of damage was, however, they said that because of where you were injured you may never be able to walk again.

Dean was so angry. He had never been more angry in his life. Not you. This couldn't be happening. Not to you. You were one of the most active people he knew. You loved to dance around the Bunker, go on runs, and brag about beating them at any sport because you honestly could, you even gave Sam a good run for his money when you went on morning runs together. For that to be taken from you…it wasn't fair. So when you had finally woken up on day three was when reality hit; you couldn't move your legs. You didn't have much sensation rather than pain. That was the last time you spoke. That was eleven days ago.

Dean didn't know what to do. The hospital almost didn't release you because of your mental state. You weren't speaking, or really eating but the moment you had heard them wanting to keep you Dean saw the panic back in your eyes as pleading tears ran down your face. You wanted to go home so that's what he did.

When you both had gotten back to the Bunker Dean had taken you into his and your shared bedroom. That's where you had stayed for the past two days; completely quiet and still, almost cationic. Dean was terrified. Even though you were here, alive and breathing you weren't, not really. This wasn't you. Yes, psychically your heart was beating but when he looked into your eyes you weren't there. The girl he fell in love with was completely shattered into the smallest of pieces. Dean didn't care though. He would put you back together piece by piece, from the ground up because he would be damned if he lost you after everything that you had gone through.

Not to say that he wasn't scared because he was. He didn't know what to do or what to say because he wouldn't lie to you. He wouldn't tell you that everything was fine and it wasn't a big deal, because nothing was fine and it was a big deal; a fucking huge deal. You may never walk again. You had every right to feel however you did and honestly he didn't care if you screamed at him right now and blamed him because at least then you'd be showing some kind of emotion. He didn't know what to do but what he did know was that he was going to be with you every step of the way to figure it out. You never left him, even in his darkest moments, so like hell would he leave you.

You and the boys had grown up together. Bobby had taken you in at a young age after he had found you on a hunt gone wrong. Your parents had been murdered and then drained in front of you by ghouls. The ghouls had just started to cut into you when Bobby and Rufus had gotten into the house. You were only seven at the time and they way you had hugged on to Bobby for dear life he knew he couldn't just drop you off somewhere so he took you with him.

The first time you had met the boys you and Sam had immediately bonded over movies and books since you were only a year older than him. You and Dean however had more of a love/hate relationship. Dean enjoyed trying to act like the tough guy and teased you mercilessly for years to the point that you had just resigned yourself to the fact he didn't like you. It wasn't until eighth grade after you saw him beat up a couple guys for making fun of your scars on your wrist, (from when the ghouls had tried to kill you), was when you realized he was just pretending not to like you. After confronting him about it and calling him an asshat was when things between you both slowly changed.

You and Dean dated off and on for a while. You had joined Dean when he went to find his dad and pick up Sam. Between then and now your relationship with Dean wasn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination. How could it be with hunting thrown into the mix? From him making a deal to save Sam which was understandable but also painful, to him abandoning you to be with Lisa, to him going to purgatory, and of course the Mark of Cain…point being; you and Dean had been to Hell and back, shit Purgatory and back and throughout all that you were still with him. So no. He wasn't going to leave you no matter what you did or what you said because he loved you and nothing could change that.

A loud thump at 3:10 in the morning was what startled Dean awake. On instinct he reached for you with one hand, and for his gun under his pillow with the other. As his hand made contact with his gun he realized that his other hadn't made contact with you. A chill immediately ran down his spine as he turned on his lamp ready to kill whoever had taken you when- laughter. Your laughter filled the room. Which honestly scared the shit out of Dean for a couple reasons; one being you hadn't made a peep for the last thirteen days and two; why the hell were you laughing? After making his way to the other side of the bed he saw you laying on your side still laughing.

"Y/N…sweetheart? What are you doing on the floor?" Crouching down to your level, he tried to scan your body to make sure you weren't hurt.

"I- I woke up and had to pee so, I went to get out of bed and immediately fell because I forgot my legs-my legs don't work!" You laughed hysterically as tears ran down your face. "How the hell did I just forget they just don't work?" Dean steadily watched you for a moment knowing what was coming next. He'd only seen you do this on a few occasions where you'd laugh and cry at the same time before you broke down. One of them being when you came to terms with him dying after taking the deal for Sam. Your laughter began to calm down and the tears began to flow freely down your face, as you poked at your legs with your pointer finger.

"I mean, if not being able to make them move isn't sign enough then-then what about how even though I can't feel them, I have a constant pain running through them?" At the end of your question you let out a mirthless laugh. Dean sat next to you and within five seconds is when he saw reality set in, truly set in and you lost it.

"I can't walk. Dean, I can't walk. What- what am I gonna do?" Pulling you into his lap he held you as tight as he could as you cried into his chest, your body shaking as panic hit. When you began hyperventilating was when Dean turned your face towards his.

He could see your mind racing as it finally was coming to terms with the reality that it was trying so hard to keep you safe from. As much as Dean wished you didn't have to go through this he knew there wasn't another way.

"Sweetheart, look at me. Y/n, sweetheart I need you to look at me." You focused your eyes on his as he gently wiped away your tears with his thumb. "There we go. That's my girl. I need you to breathe with me okay?" You shook your head in a panic mouthing the word 'can't'. "Yes you can. You can breathe baby. I need you to focus on me. Can you do that? Here," he gently took your hand and placed it on his chest as he took a deep breath. "Feel that? I need you to match it. I know you can sweetheart. Deep breath." He took a breath in, and as he did you shakily followed. He gave you a smile as a tear fell down his own cheek. "That's my girl. There we go, keep going sweetheart. You're doing so good Y/N, so so good."

Twenty minutes went by as Dean held you close to him coaching you through your breathing, still not moving even when you calmed down.

"Dean?" It was a ghost of a whisper but he heard you regardless. He looked down, still stroking your hair.

"Yeah sweetheart?" You avoided his eyes.

"I know this isn't what you signed up for. Hunting is your life and I can't do that anymore-" He gently, but firmly lifted your chin so you would look at him.

"I'm gonna stop you right there. Hunting isn't my life. Maybe it was at one point but not anymore. You, you're who I want to be with, who I want to spend my life with so if that means no hunting, then so be it. I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me sweetheart." Your eyes met his smirk before meeting his green orbs filled with nothing but love, sincere and honest love.

You didn't know why he would stay but you couldn't find a reason to doubt him at this moment because you didn't want to spend the rest of your life with anyone else either.

[holylulusworld]

Single Parent

Title: Single parent

Square Filled: Relationship break-up

Ship: Mobster!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Benny LaFitte

Rating: Mature

Summary: Your arranged bond with Dean grows fruits but you can’t be happy as you should.

Warnings: angst, language, arranged marriage, unrequited feelings, sad reader, abandonment, Dean being a douche, giving birth (no description), shitty relationship, pregnant reader

A/N: I already outlined the story before I got the request. I changed the ending and a few scenes to make it fit.

Word Count: 3.5 k

Written/Created for: @spnmixedbingo​​

Divider by @firefly-graphics​​

2021 SPN Mixed BINGO Masterlist

Now…

“No John, I’m done,” you cry, running your hand over your baby bump. “You could force me to marry your son, to stay with him and have his heir,” you sniff, looking around the guest room you chose over your comfortable bedroom. “But you can’t force me to play the obedient housewife. I tried, John—I really tried but Dean doesn’t even like me.”

“He’s just a little stubborn and rough on the outside like me, doll,” John tries to reason with you. “Show him the latest ultrasound and he’ll change.”

“No, he won’t,” voice bitter you sit on the bed, shaking your head lightly. “That’s the problem. I-I’m nothing more than a breeder to your son. I know he doesn’t reciprocate my feelings, but I had hoped he’ll be kinder to me when he sees me swollen with his child. I know he cares for the baby, but sadly I’m not sure it’s because he loves them or as you want an heir.”

“Y/N,” sitting next to you John watches you tear up. Months of rejection and coldness took a toll on you. “I didn’t know it’s that bad.”

“He told Sam I’m nothing but a vessel for his child, John. I could be dead, and he wouldn’t care,” choking out a sob you give John a sad smile. “Did you know he never came to the doctor with me? He never showed and my gynecologist believes I am a single parent – and maybe I am.”

“What happened last week? Why did you suddenly move out of your shared bedroom, doll? Did Dean hurt you?”

“Not physically-“ you huff, looking at the wedding band around your finger. “I was at my doctor’s practice for the next check-up, as usual, Dean didn’t show, even though, he promised to be there,” sniffling you take the wedding band off, dropping it onto the bed, not wanting to feel it on your skin right now.

“We had a meeting, I’m sorry for keeping Dean away from you,” John lies, you can see it in his eyes and his voice is a little too low. He doesn’t realize you know him too well to not see through his lies. “Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you, Y/N.”

“I saw all those happy couples and excited dad’s pacing around the waiting room and realized, Dean gives a shit on me and his child. I can’t leave, but at the same time I won’t pretend Dean is not the cold-hearted man he is,” sadly you can’t hide you are still in love with his son, but your try your hardest.

“What happened, Y/N? I heard you fought with your husband. Did he hurt you?” John presses. “I need to know…”

“You really want to know? Fine, I’ll tell you everything happening that day-“

One week earlier…

“Mrs. Winchester,” the nurse chirps, leading you into the room. “Where’s your husband? Didn’t he want to join us today?”

“He wanted but as always, business comes first,” you grumble, handing the young woman a business card. “That’s my brothers-in-law’s number. If I ever need help, please call him.”

“What about your husband?” confused the nurse looks at you, blinking a few times before she recognizes your teary eyes. “Ah, got it. I will call Sam Winchester if it’s necessary. We will add it to your medical record.”

“Thank you,” giving the nurse a sad smile you try to push the tears away. “As I said, my husband is always busy, and Sam offered his help. If not, call the second number, that’s my father-in-law.”

“No problem, Mrs. Winchester. Now let’s turn our attention toward your baby. Are you excited to find out about the gender?” nodding you swallow the lump in your throat, hiding you wished Dean would’ve come to find out with you.

“All done, Cher?” watching you walk out of the practice, a soft smile on his lips Benny offers his hand to you. “So, did they tell you the gender today?”

“It’s a boy,” you choke out, done fighting the tears. “You’re the first one I told, Benny-“ ignoring people watch you cry outside of your doctor’s practice you hide your face in Benny’s chest.

“He should’ve been here, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

“Everyone is always sorry; everyone but Dean,” angrily fisting Benny’s jacket you look up at your bodyguard. “I’m done trying, Benny. This is ridiculous. He’s not interested in me or the baby.”

“Dean cares about the baby, Cher,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “It’s true.”

“Dean only cares about my son as he needs an heir. There is no love in him. I-I wanted to share this with him. Dean, he should’ve been here with me, experience every step but he refuses to even give me that. My first pregnancy should’ve been something special but now, it only makes me sad.”

“How’s the baby?” Dean asks, awaiting your report as usual.

“Still alive. Benny got the ultrasound if you want to see them. If you want to know about the gender, ask your friend too,” you quip, walking toward the walk-in-wardrobe to get your favorite pajamas, you ignore Dean follows you. “Unlike other people he was there.”

“I had a meeting, Y/N,” arguing Dean watches you gather more clothes, frowning as you didn’t jump on him to tell him every single detail about your appointment. 

Usually, you would excitedly tell him about the baby, forcing him to look at the ultrasound picture and demand his attention. Today, you barely said two words, not even tried to talk to him. 

“A meeting, sex with one of your girls – I don’t care Dean. I’m tired of this, of you. To give you the space you need, I’ll go and have lunch with Charlie. Don’t wait for me–“ you chuckle, humorlessly. “Ah, yeah I forgot. You wouldn’t care if I never return.” walking out of the room, leaving a speechless Dean behind, you slam the door shut, making him flinch. 

“Benny, my wife is gone; just like all of her belongings, we need to find her! She’s pregnant with my child.”

“You only care about the baby, huh? Do you even know it’s a boy, Dean?” Benny sneers, placing the ultrasound picture into Dean’s hand. “Y/N is not gone, she simply moved into the guestroom next to John’s room. I helped her while you were out, doing god knows.”

“Wait – she moved into the guestroom? Why?”

“Seriously, Dean? You promised to be there, at least to get to know about the gender, and yet, you didn’t come to the practice. I think Y/N gave up trying,” huffing Dean watches you step out of the guestroom, ignoring he glares at you.

“Y/N, you can’t just move out of our bedroom!” muttering the words Dean watches you walk past him.

“Oh, you meant me. I thought I’m only a vessel, a breeder to carry your heir,” whipping your head toward Dean you give him a cold glare. Your heart races and you can feel fresh tears well-up to your eyes, but you need to get this out before you can return to your room and cry some more. 

“I’m talking to you, Y/N. What if you go into labor and I’m not close by?” Dean mutters.

“I think it’s for the best you keep on ignoring me and give your whores all of your attention,” brushing past Dean you slap his hand away when he tries to touch you. 

“Y/N!”

“Don’t Winchester-“ you growl. “I fulfilled my duty and got pregnant. Now you can stick your dick into any pussy and stay the fuck away from me and don’t worry about my labor. I will, just like anything else since I got pregnant, handle this on my own. If I should need help at any point of my pregnancy, Sam and John offered to be there for me.”

Now …

“Dean messed up epically, huh?” John carefully tries when you get up to walk toward the nursery next to the guestroom. “What are you going to do?“

"Nothing, John. Just like the first four months of my pregnancy, I will try to do what’s best for my son,“ John’s eyes light up when you tell him he’s going to have a grandson. “Today I’ll focus on finishing the nursery. Benny and Sam helped me with the wallpaper and cradle. I must check on the bears I painted and will make a list of what I will need.”

“I can help,“ offering you a cracked smile John holds out his hand. “I got you into this shitshow, let me at least try to make things easier for you, doll.”

“You could check on the shelves and cradle,” you sniff. “I just wish I had a man like you or Sam by my side. I see the way Sam cares about his wife and children. I know Dean is a little closed-off, like you but he’s kind to everyone he likes. Must be me.”

“Oh, Y/N,” slinging one arm around your shoulders John leads you out of your chosen bedroom. “You still got people caring about you. Sammy and I will be there and help you.”

“I know…”

“You’re talented,” looking at the bears you painted John smiles. “Mommy bear and baby bear,” he hums, admiring your painting. “Where’s the dad?”

“I’m a single parent, John. Why should I paint a daddy bear if he gives a shit on me and his son?” Dean stands in the doorframe, watching his father help you fix one of the shelves, swallowing thickly. “You know, every single woman at my doctor’s practice looks so happy, they glow and I just-“

“I get it, Y/N. You wanted your pregnancy to be special,” nodding you look at the bears. “You could draw an Uncle Sammy and Granddad John bear.”

“I’ll think about it, John,” with a small smile on your lips you watch John place the plushies onto one of the shelves. “You know, he didn’t even care about my morning sickness or cravings. I had this image in my mind. Dean the devoted soon-to-be dad helping me during my pregnancy. I know he doesn’t love me, I’m not delusional. But a bit more attention would’ve been nice.”

Two months later…

Used to being on your own you walk into your doctor’s practice. This time you don’t look at all the happy couples wishing it were you and Dean. Over the last weeks, you made up your mind.

Only as you don’t get to leave Dean doesn’t mean you must bear his behavior. So, you decided to keep your distance and only ask John, Sam, or Benny for help with the nursery.

You no longer tell Dean about your check-ups or try to include him in your pregnancy. 

“Morning, Mrs. Winchester,” you flinch when the nurse calls your name. “How are you feeling today? Will the baby daddy be here today too?”

“No,” you breathe out. “Let’s be honest, Sally.” giving the young nurse a sad smile, you point toward the other pairs. “I know you are only trying to be friendly but anytime you are asking about my non-present husband it stings. Why don’t you treat me like a single parent? Cause that’s what I am.”

“How’s the baby?” Dean asks again, following you toward the nursery. “Listen, I know you try to punish me but not telling me about our baby breaks one of my rules.”

“The baby is still alive. He grows fast and the ultrasound picture lies on your desk. If you have more questions, call my gynecologist or,” turning around you give Dean a cold look, “you could move your ass to the practice next time but I get it – you were busy.”

“I got the right to know about my son,” growling the words Dean steps closer but this time, he doesn’t intimidate you with his size. “Tell me everything.”

“Weight and size are average. His heartbeat is strong, and he sucked his thumb today,” you scoff at Dean’s sudden interest. “You would know more about your child if you actually cared. He started to be more active, I can feel our little boy kick me harder but so far, only John felt our baby kick.”

Walking away you enter your room, slamming the door shut behind you, locking it to take a deep breath.

“He’s my son too! You can’t shut me out!” Dean yells from the hallway.

“Sperm donator, you son of a bitch,” you growl. “If it were up to me, I’d file for divorce.”

“YOU WON’T!” he mutters. “I will not allow you to leave me.”

“I got that, but you should know that our marriage is over to me. If you dare to get close to me ever again, you’ll lose your hands or cock. Go and fuck one of your sluts.”

“I should-“ frustrated Dean kicks your door. “You’re still my wife, Y/N. I expect you to respect me and our bond.”

“Fuck that,” feeling exhausted you lie on your bed, gently running one hand over your belly. “He’ll not ruin your life, baby boy. I promise to protect you from your asshole father.”

“I heard that.”

“I don’t fucking care,” you cry. “Now leave me alone. You got the information you need. Don’t worry, your heir is still healthy. Even though, you didn’t help me at all…”

Two months, two weeks, and five days later…

“Looks good,” John hums, glancing at the ultrasound picture. “How are you, doll? Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine,” looking at your wedding band you try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Is there a way to protect my child from Dean? Can you add something to the prenup? Please.”

“I will not allow Dean to hurt your son, Y/N. I don’t think Dean would ever lay a finger on him-“

“That’s not what I meant. Being around Dean is unhealthy for me. What will he do to our child? How shall I explain to my baby boy that his father hates me? That I’m only a breeder to him, a body he could use to get a child.”

“Are you fucking my father?” ludicrously you look at Dean when he storms into your room, your solace. “That’s the reason you moved out of our bedroom – huh? You spread your legs for John Winchester.”

“What the fuck, Dean?” you sniff, reluctantly leaving the bed. “Over the last week I barely left my room as I didn’t feel well, and you accuse me of such a thing? I don’t have the time to fuck anyone. Unlike you, I had to take care of anything-“ whimpering you feel a piercing pain ripple through your womb. “Oh, god-“

“Y/N?” paling Dean watches you crouch down in front of your bed, crying out in pain. “What’s wrong? Y/N, talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Go and get your father or Sam,” you pant, while you try to remember everything the midwife taught you. “I think the baby wants to get out.”

“No, it’s too early,” panicked Dean rushes to your side to help you sit on the bed. “I’ll call an ambulance, Y/N.”

“O-okay-“ you scream, feeling another painful contraction approach. “No, no. My water just broke.” tears run down your cheeks when John and Sam stumble into the room. They heard your screams and try to help.

“Fuck, doll,” John mumbles, kneeling in front of you to calm you. “Sammy, call an ambulance and tell Benny to get Y/N’s bags. I’ll stay here to help her.”

“I already called an ambulance. Stop acting as if that’s your son,” Dean growls, glaring at his father.

“Do you want to help the mother of your child or fight with me right now, son? I think you showed how much you are interested in your child. Now shut the fuck up and help me here,” John would like to give his son a piece of mind but right now, he must take care of you.

“John,” grasping for your father-in-law’s hand, “promise me he won’t be there. I don’t want Dean inside the room while I give birth.”

"That’s my wife and child in there! Lemme inside,” Dean growls, fighting against one of the security guards. “Let me pass.”

“DEAN,” John’s voice booms through the hallway. “Your wife is in there. She’s in pain, scared, and tries to give birth to your baby. Stop acting like an idiot. You had it coming.”

“You didn’t care about your child or wife for over eight months. Did you honestly believe she wants you in there?” Sam huffs, squeezing Jess’s hand. “I was with Jess the whole time. I heard the heartbeat, saw my baby, felt it kick. I can’t believe you didn’t want to experience any of it.“

“I-I never wanted to marry Y/N. It was an arranged bond,” Dean sniffs, hearing you cry out in pain.

“This doesn’t change she’s your wife and that she needed you. Even more important, your son needed you. I believe babies bond with their parents in the womb. You could’ve talked to him, played music, or feel him kick.”

“Look at you baby boy,” cooing your son you feel your heart swell. Even if Dean is not going to show any affection toward your child, you’ll give the little boy all your love. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Can I finally see him too?” Dean mutters, sneaking into your room. “How could you let my father, Sam, and Jess see my son first?”

“I didn’t think you will find the time to visit me and your baby. If you would excuse me now, I want to concentrate on Robert Maximilian Winchester.”

“What?” gaping at you Dean feels his stomach churn. “You named him Robert? But-but we agreed to name him Dean jr. How could you not only keep me away while giving birth but also deciding on a name without me? That’s cruel.” Dean sniffs, looking at your son in your arms.

“Cruel–?” you take a deep breath, try to ignore the burning rage running through your veins. “Do you know what cruel means, Winchester? Cruel means that your husband, the man you love with all your heart ignores you completely. Cruel means that he never shows affection or at least cares about you during pregnancy.”

“I’m his father!”

“Sperm donator,” you retort. “We are only a breeder and a sperm donator. You are not a father, and never will be. You’ll not hurt my baby boy and push him away as you did with me. You can lay claim on him when he turns 18, until then I’ll give him all the love he deserves.”

“He’s my baby boy too,” sniffling Dean looks at your child, tearing up. “Let me at least hold him. Please.”

“Not today,” adamant you defend your son, not giving in. It’s your turn to be selfish and not to show any compassion. Dean can cry as much as he wants to.

Today, you’ll be the cruel one – even if it kills you.

“She doesn’t let me hold my son,” outside of your room Dean starts to cry. “I wasn’t allowed to hold my baby boy. How can she be so cruel?”

“I say it again – you had it coming,” John shrugs, ignoring he feels sorry for his son. “Y/N never was cruel. All she wanted was a bit of affection. Why couldn’t you give her that?”

“I just didn’t feel like pretending. But I care about our baby and want to hold him.”

Dean doesn’t leave your side. He sits next to your bed, still looking at his son.

“Please let me hold him, Y/N.”

“Five minutes,” you whisper, not looking at Dean. “You can hold him for five minutes and after that, you can pretend we do not exist until you need your heir.”

“It’s not like that,” with trembling fingers Dean takes Robert Maximillian out of your hands. “He’s so beautiful and tiny.”

“It’s a baby, what did you expect,” turning around to not watch Dean with your son you close your eyes. “Tell me when you are done playing daddy, Dean.”

“Why are you so cold. This isn’t you, Y/N.”

“That’s what happens to a loving person when she gives up. If you don’t like me the way I am now, you can always ask your dad to let me out of this marriage...”

“Look this is your room, baby boy,” cooing your baby you walk around the room. “There is a teddy bear, and over there is a cute duck. Maybe you’ll like the cat Sammy bought for you?”

“He doesn’t like cats,” Dean grumbles, walking into the nursery. “I bet he’s allergic like me.” hopefully looking at you Dean holds out his hands. “Come on, lemme hold him for a while.”

“I will leave you to your son, Dean. If you are done pretending you are a father, holler and I’ll take care of Robert,” carefully placing your son into Dean’s arms you ignore he tries to talk to you. 

“Y/N, we should talk about a few things.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, Dean. I’m stuck in this marriage, but this doesn’t mean I let you walk all over me ever again. I am a single parent, and this will not change…”

>> Part 2

SPN Forever Tags

@donnaintx

@screechingartisancashbailiff

@fallen-wolf22

@sister-winchesters99

@mogaruke

@the-is13

@helloitsmeamie203

@sandlee44

@strayrosesbloom

@notyourtypicalrose

@thewinchesterco

@marvelfansworld

@hobby27

@gh0stgurl

@flamencodiva

@jay-and-dean

@valsworldofcreativity

@h-o-l-l-i

@dayasvalkyrie

@wittysunflower

@supernaturalenchanted

@shikshinkwon

@yolobloggers

@hhiggs

@laxe-chester67

@ilovefanfic86

@linki-locks11

@eggingamazinglove

@trumpettay

@fandom-imagines1

@waywardbaby

@straycuties9

@drakelover78

@stuckys-whore

@zxph-yr

@i-love-superhero

@ten-tenya-iida

@deepmuffinspymaker

@katsav17

@heyitscam99

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@exo-nova

@echoesofpassion-blog-blog

@shatteredabby

@anaelsbrunette

@sea040561

@lemondropirwin

@lonewolf471

@wronglanemendes

@juniorhuntersam

@helpmeluci

@goodgodimaweirdperson

@shadowkat-83

@alltimesamantha

@officialmarvelwhore

@miraclesoflove

@maniacproffesor

@hollymac79

@kayla-2000-art-admirer

@gracefultrenchcoat494

@babygirls-fav

@spnwoman

@amiquette

@tornadochaserchick33

@geekofmanyforms

@jessica-marsh09

@spnficgirl

@shut-themoonscone

@thequeenreaders

@countrygal17a

@atomicfandombomb

@kteelou

@soryuwifeyxx

@defenderrosetyler

@shortwinchester

@maybesomedaygayyyy

@sabascio

@that-place-called-middle-earth

@bunnybaby89

@pandabiiissh

@maddiedott

@lilulo-12

@05supernatural20

@mblaqgi

@justsomedreaming

@cassiopeia-barrow

@its-the-timey-wimey-winchesters

@mscarter213

@jo-like-josette

@mep6811

@prettydeaneyes

@rvgrsbrns

@deanwanddamons

@tearsforhan

@waywardbabie

@certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel

@belovedcherry

@amandamdiehl

@sycochick

@abeautifuldiaster124

@matsumama

@rynabarnesrogers-reading

@homeorbust

@emoryhemsworth

@lunaticgurly

@spnbaby-67

@wonderlandfandomkingdom

@heartislubbingdubbing

@kitkatd7

@doctor-hp-mcu

@lovefromthewinchesters

@coffeebooksandfandom

@moosekateer13

@miss-nerd95

@caffeinefueledfangirl

@vicmc624

@mariaenchanted

@bxnnywriting

@lady-pswrld

@thinkaboutmara

@coldmuffinbanditshoe

@suckmyapplejacks

@princesssterek

@lexy586

@notbrooklynsblog

--------------------------------------

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags   

@spnfamily-j2

@supernatural-bellawinchester

@negans-lucille-tblr

@deans-baby-momma

@thefaithfulwriter

@squirrelnotsam

@roonyxx

@underthewrap

@deansgirl-1968

@spn-dean-and-sam-winchester

@butifulsoul125

@lyinginthegingerlocks

@champagneneen

@janicho88

@woodworthti666

@thevelvetseries

@dreaminemz

@akshi8278

@midnightsilver16830

@mrspeacem1nusone

@ria132love

@caligraphee

@the-witch-in-silence

@justanotherwinchester

@multisuperfandom

@jadesupernatural

@psychicforest

@luciathewinchestergirl

@magssteenkamp

@tranquility-or-chaos

@jxackles

@michellemxndes

@addictedtofictionalcharacters

@impalapark

@waywardrose13

@team-free-will-you-idjiot

@myopiamystical

@rintheemolion

@bluecornflowers

@rosalynshields

@nihilismworld

@peaches007 

@thoughts-and-funnies

@lyarr24 

@givecki

@beabutterfly987

@deandreamernp

[imabee-oralizard]

Okay random things I want to tell you or kinda have pined but I’m indecisive and want multiple stuff pined so here is this.

Minor

Also I have bad grammar, I know this is chaotic you don’t need to tell me.

I’m currently reading- looking for Alaska by John green

Currently watching- all marvel movies

Currently obsessed with song- taylor swift songs (everything has changed, mean)

Follow this page

@queerrambles

This shows I’m astorias @scandalous-chaos (I can’t make it’s actual mention since I’ve already done 50 mentions 😭)wife btw

I’m her wife,thank you

I have matching icons with @nevilleismywhore 2 times in a row now.

Proof here

Tori said I’m her bestie 🥰

I write poems but i might tag them. Idk. I probably won’t find them all.

I reblog a lot of things I want to read later then forget them see them again so I’ll reblog them so that’s why I reblog some things 5 times.

Love this - its political and the woman is talking about money but its 3 minutes as you should watch it

Oh also about me

I don’t want to state my age online :)

My name is Kylie but you can call me nicknames like love, or whatever you want honestly

Instagram- Kylie_200608

I don’t support jk Rowling, I don’t support homophobia, transphobia, sexualizing, rape, incest, cyber bullying, using people’s phobias against them.

I am also off of celebrity drama and true news a lot so most the time I’ll have no clue what is going on.

I don’t write fan fictions but you can request something for me to write for a poem. I’ve never done that but I’m willing to try. <3

Don’t sexualize me

Don’t be rude to me or my friends

I will block you

You can send me messages anon or not but please me nice

If you ever need to talk you can message me! Even if you don’t want me to talk back you can use me as a inbox to just rant to. I don’t know if I can always give advice but I will let you rant<3

Don’t forget you are loved, no matter gender, sexuality, family, thoughts, friends, where you live, your bank status, what you’ve said or done. You being you is awesome and actions can be fixed and forgiven<3

I like purple

I’m pansexual

My pronouns are she/her

I’m a hufflepuff

I’m a Leo

I like taylor swift, teen Wolf, reading, poetry, divergent, Harry Potter, astrology, marvel, dc, traveling, supernatural, vampire diaries, originals, hunger games, probably more

I am @incorrect-slytherin-quotes hufflepuff (their account if also @doctor-disc0) (they’re also the owner of @queerrambles they’re amazing)

Proof, it took me like 20 minutes to find this but it’s worth it

Some tags I use:

(I’ll add some when I start talking to people more)

I’m gonna try to start to use read later

I might start using Kylie’s random thoughts

My amazing wife Astoria

Astoria

These two are dedicated to @scandalous-chaos)

Nevilleismywhore

My best bestie on tumblr

Now using my amazing wife bay

These two are dedicated to @nevilleismywhore)

Wrathspoet

My amazing non silent silent friend

Those to are dedicated to @Wrathspoet

Poems

Some comfort characters-

Regulus black, draco Malfoy, Remus lupin, stiles stilinski, Derek hale, Lydia Martin, James potter, Harry Potter, Wanda maximoff, Bucky Barnes, pietro, Peter Parker (Tom and Andrew), void stiles, Theo reaken, dean winchester, Luna love good, Sirius black, Hermione granger, Loki

My poems

Are we the animals

Never shall I forget

Books

Words

My will to live

I am not a child

When does it end

Achilles heel - goes with Sarah’s song

Check out @sarahisslytherin music

Some people I talk to or visit their page often

@ameliora-j @ameliasbitvh @ama0310 @sarahisslytherin @scandalous-chaos @nevilleismywhore @dmalfoyswhore @mendesxruel @wrathspoet @hopelessbutterfly @hogwartshousefriends @fictionalcomforts @comfortscripts (also fictionalcomforts) @elysian-bxg @padf00ts-l0ver @dobrienwrites @cupids-crystals @cupids-archive @ilovemarvelanne1 @ilovemoviekidd826 @lavhoes @nevsluvr @dead-james-potter @drawlfoy @marcela6malfoy @skiller0dani @oliverwoodmarrymepls @littlemissnoname13 @chosenimagines @kiwijulia @mirclealignr @someoneiwasnt @mellifluousart @sereinegemini @sarahisstillslytherin @velvetcloxds @earlgreydream

(That is in no particular order)

Tumblr account started around October 1st 2021

First person I talked to was @mellifluousart <3(thankyou for making me feel welcome)(and thank you @sarahisslytherin for being the second person I really talked to on here)

Thank you @scandalous-chaos for always making me feel loved <3

Thank you @nevilleismywhore for being a amazing friend

Thank you @ameliora-j for making me feel like I can say anything to you and being there for so many people

Thank you @doctor-disc0 for being so welcoming and making me feel awesome when I first got on this app

Thank you @wrathspoet for just being plain awesome

Thank you @velvetcloxds for writing amazing fanfictions that just hit the spot all the time and being so nice

Thank you @marcela6malfoy, I haven’t talked to you a bunch but you’ve been a account that I’ve always cared about so much and just thank you so much

+more people but I really wanted to say thank you to the people. And thank you all content creators for writing and rebloging stuff. You guys are amazing and loved.

I currently have 42 followers- January 7th 2022

Updated on- January 7th 2022

If there is any grammar mistakes here please let me know. If there is on any of my poems please also let me know. Don’t feel afraid to message me and tell me.

[calaofnoldor]

Winchester Welcome

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 3,878

Summary: Everyone’s ecstatic about the impending birth of your twins, but since when do these things ever go off without a hitch for the Winchesters?

Warnings: labor/birth/complications (but nothing too graphic), potential medical inaccuracies, slight angst, bit of language, dean being an awesome big bro? 

A/N: this is part 2 of ‘Dean, Don’t’ (though i think it can be read as a stand alone) which was very kindly requested by @carryonmywaywardbucky, so if you don’t like it, you can go take it up with her (jk!). also, i’m so sorry, i don’t know where all this angst/drama came from 😬

← BACK UP | MASTERLIST

Sam had one foot up on the bench seat and the other planted firmly on the floor of the Impala. He had managed to maneuver you between his legs, where he could offer comfort and support in whatever form you needed.

With one hand pressed against the side of your colossal baby bump, Sam could feel your stomach tense up each time a contraction came, and he always urged you to breathe through them. His face would be nuzzled within your hair, while his other hand kept itself busy rubbing along your neck, shoulders, arms, back, and hips. Indeed, the man had become remarkably handsy ever since you began to show and you unwittingly loved it, even now, in the throes of labor.

“Ugh, Sam!” You grabbed his wrist in a moment of frenzied pain.

“I’m here, baby! I got you, it’s OK.” Sam burrowed his nose into your neck in consolation, and you were beyond glad he had decided to join you in the backseat, despite the tight quarters.

As the blur of buildings and trees whizzed by, your contractions intensified in both strength and frequency. “This hurts more than that time I got shot,” you groaned miserably.

Sam laughed but continued to offer gentle susurrations in his low, soothing tone, lips grazing along the shell of your ear, whilst his doting, reverent fingers brushed the hair away from your face before travelling downwards to work their magic along the base of your spine.

Although Dean tried to grant the two (soon to be four) of you some privacy, he was still able to hear every whisper of love and encouragement Sam uttered your way. He knew that there was nearly nothing his brother hated more in this world than to see you in pain and figured Sam had been doing a pretty awesome job so far, considering. And you, of course - as proven countless times before - had the pain tolerance of an indie wrestler, and Dean had never been more aware of or impressed by the fact than right now.

On this, your boyfriend agreed wholeheartedly. “Breathe, baby. You’re doing so good,” he commended with pride as you huffed through yet another massive cramp, your hands laid protectively across your distended belly.

But something didn’t feel right. Your contractions were growing closer together at an alarming rate, though no one cared to vocalize it, and although you were tempted to pull your usual shit of swallowing your discomfort in silence, you reminded yourself that this time it was about more than just you.

“Ohhh,” you finally let yourself moan aloud, “Sam, I think you might have to check me.”

“Check you?” Dean asked from the driver’s seat; his voice was a little higher than usual.

“To see how far she’s dilated,” Sam replied for you. “Baby, I can’t do that unless Dean pulls over. Do you think we should stop the car? Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Mmm, I don’t know,” you rasped, “There’s just a lot of pressure and it feels like there’s no break between the contractions anymore.” The string of words left you panting, and you leaned further back into Sam’s embrace.

“What’s the sitch, guys? We stopping the car or should I keep driving?” Dean questioned as he turned his classic rock down a little lower.

“Keep driving,” you confirmed weakly.

Dean complied but made a point to meet Sam’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. They shared a brief moment of wordless, brotherly communication, after which Sam nodded resolutely, his jaw set and eyes ablaze with a mixture of fear and rigid determination.

As the tension in the car mounted, however, the tension in your body seemed to fade. You felt awful for becoming so depleted this early into your labor. You hadn’t even given birth to one of the twins yet, and already you were feeling drained. How could you possibly carry on this way? But all these thoughts quickly disappeared when the weariness became too much.

“Y/N?” Sam looked down at you with furrowed brows. He could feel your body growing limp within his arms.

“Sammy, I don’t feel so good,” you whispered hoarsely. Dean would have thought this was a very normal thing to say during labor, but the change of tone in your voice alerted him to something more.

Sam too, was immediately alert. He scanned your form and noticed two terrifying things right away: first, there was blood on your pants and second, your eyelids seemed to be drooping involuntarily.

“Y/N? Baby, stay with me,” he pleaded as he gave your shoulders a light shake, “Come on, wake up Y/N!” But the darkness was beginning to take over, and you could no longer respond.

“Dean, she’s bleeding,” Sam spoke as an urgent aside, his heart pounding wildly inside his chest.

Dean could tell his brother was beginning to panic, just as he always did when your well-being was on the line, and he knew he needed to remain calm for Sam. “What? OK, just hold on, Y/N/N! We’re almost there.” Dean’s lead foot pushed even harder against the gas pedal.

Behind him, Sam held you tightly in his arms, filling your ears with delicate murmurs of reassurance, desperate for you to wake up. “Come on, baby. You promised me. Just hang on a little longer. You’re gonna be OK.” But even as he said this, he saw more blood seep through your pants. “Dean, drive faster!”

About to tell Sam that he was already going thirty over the speed limit, Dean made the wise decision to shut up and simply put the pedal to the metal, his face a mask of absolute focus.

It was only a matter of minutes, during which you drifted in and out of consciousness, before the Impala screeched to a halt in front of the hospital’s emergency entrance. Dean scrambled out of the car at lightning speed and ran around to open the rear, passenger-side door for you.

Likewise, Sam wasted no time lifting you into his arms and bounding out of the car, practically sprinting towards the reception area. It was an impressive feat of strength, even for Sam, but Dean knew his little brother would have moved mountains for you and those babies if he needed to.

A nurse was there to greet Sam upon his frantic and rather rowdy entrance.

“Help! I need help! My wife’s in labor with our twins, and she passed out on the way here! Her water already broke a-and she’s bleeding!”

The two of you had created fake identities when you decided on a hospital birth, concerned about the chances of complications for delivering twins (and big ones at that), and Sam had never been more grateful for the foresight. He had suggested you go with the credentials of husband and wife to make things easier and ensure the hospital would give him all the privileges of a marital status. Fortunately, despite his hysterical state, Sam hadn’t even hesitated when he called you his wife; the word just seemed to roll off his tongue naturally.

Meanwhile, Dean glanced at his beloved car for a moment, its keys left haphazardly in the ignition. There was a slight grimace on his face as he faltered, considering whether he should go park his Baby in a more legal location or let her get towed and head directly to you and his brother. When he looked back towards the ER and saw your head lolling against Sam’s shoulder, he made his decision. Sam needed him, and Dean would be damned if he didn’t fulfill his lifelong job as the solid and unwavering base of support for his baby brother at this pivotal moment.

“We need a stretcher over here!” The nurse hollered out before turning back to Sam, “OK sir, can you tell me when your wife’s water broke?”

Sam blanched for an instant. He couldn’t focus on anything but your unconscious form. “Um… it was before we left, about, I don’t know-“

“About an hour ago,” Dean supplied as he strode up to his brother’s side. “And we noticed the bleeding around fifteen minutes ago.”

Sam nodded appreciatively, his eyes still wide and frenetic. A stretcher suddenly appeared next to him and he reluctantly laid you down on it, opting to grasp for your hand instead. Dean was busy informing the doctors of your situation, but Sam couldn’t hear any of it.

“OK, let’s go!” a male doctor called out. “Get an OR prepped just in case. Tell them we’ve got a female in active labor with twins, possible placental abruption.”

Trotting alongside your stretcher as the hospital staff pushed you down the hall, one of Sam’s large hands still held on firmly to yours while the other wiped the hair away from your face. “Baby, if you can hear me, please just stay strong, OK? Everything’s gonna be alright. I’m right here. I’ll be here the whole time.”

As if you had heard his prayers, your eyelids began to flutter open. Sam nearly collapsed with relief, but he willed his legs to continue pumping, his eyes never leaving your face. He waited as you tilted your head this way and that, trying to make out your new surroundings.

“S-Sam?” Your voice was still feeble, but Sam had never been happier to hear it.

“Oh, thank god! I’m here, baby, I’m here,” he choked out in a sob.

“Where are we?”

“The hospital. Dean got you here in record time. Everything’s gonna be fine.” He repeated. “Just stay awake for me, OK?”

You tried to nod, but you weren’t sure how well it translated since every muscle in your body felt utterly exhausted.

“She’s regained consciousness. Let’s bring her to the delivery room first.”

As soon as you were wheeled in, an oxygen mask materialized before you, and despite your weak protests was promptly attached to your face. Regardless, you barely got the chance to take a few deep breaths before the contractions began to pick up exactly where they left off.

Yet it seemed like an eternity until the urge to push finally and abruptly overcame your body. You gasped, mouth forming a wide “O”, as you felt your first baby descend swiftly through the birth canal.

“What? What is it?!” Sam inquired hurriedly in trepidation.

“She needs to push,” the doctor answered for you. “Alright Y/N, on your next contraction, I want you to put your chin to your chest and bear down for me as hard as you can, you understand?”

Your answer was a resounding growl as you squeezed your eyes shut and gave your first push of many.

Sam never left your side and he never let go of your hand. He could only marvel at your strength as he tried desperately to provide what little physical and moral support he could. He wanted so badly to kiss you but with the mask in the way, his lips could only settle upon your sweaty forehead.

It took hours, but eventually…

“The baby’s out; it’s a boy! Time of birth - 2:37am.”

Sam was granted only a second to rejoice, his iridescent eyes lighting up at the sight and sound of his firstborn entering the cruel world.

“The mother’s hemorrhaging!” a nurse bellowed and Sam instantly paled, his gaze returning at once to your fatigued figure on the bed.

“We need to get the second baby out now! Call the OR, tell them we’ve got an emergency C-section coming in,” the lead doctor commanded in reply.

Sam watched helplessly as the blood drained from your face and your eyes refused to open yet again. “No, no, no! Please, baby. Please don’t do this to me. Stay with me, Y/N. I need you. Our babies need you!” Sam pleaded for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

“Damn it!” he cursed as the tears began to fall. Sam rose to his full height, his hands balled into tight fists as he pumped them erratically through the air. His imposing form might have frightened some of the nurses if they hadn’t seen the look of horror and anguish that engulfed his features, or witnessed his unequivocal love and devotion to you throughout the labor and delivery process.

Sam forced himself to heave deep breathes as he observed the medical professionals bustling about your room, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Where’s my baby? At least tell me my baby is alright?” he demanded in a shaky tone to no one in particular.

“Your son is just fine, sir. They’ve taken him to the NICU to get checked up but from what I saw, he’s a big and healthy baby boy,” one of the nurses provided with a cautious smile.

“My son…” Sam breathed, looking back down at your unconscious form, “Our son… Did you hear that, baby? Oh, god!” He wanted to take you in his arms, to simply will the life back into you, but the doctors were swarming around your bed, poking and prodding at your still swollen abdomen.

“Sir, you need to back up and let the doctors do their job.”

Sam’s chest puffed up on instinct and he was about to retort when Dean, who had been watching in vain from afar, was suddenly there to hold him back. His hands gripped Sam’s biceps from behind and he pulled his brother back with all the strength he could muster, but Sam would not budge. Dean had no choice but to come around to Sam’s front and push against his inflated chest with both hands, while eyeing his little brother with a pointed look that told him to listen to the nurse, that there was nothing he could do right now to help you.

When Sam finally relented, he could no longer hold back his sobs. He had never felt so helpless, so useless. Dean managed to pull him into a waiting room before he broke down completely.

“Hey, you listen to me.” Dean’s ‘big brother voice’ was in full effect, “Your girl in there, is one hell of a fighter. We have seen her go through hell and back both with and for you, literally. And I know you’d do the same for her, Sammy. And so does she, alright? So I know for a fact that Y/N is gonna be fighting with everything she’s got to get back to you and your family. Just like she always does. I mean, hey, she’s practically a Winchester, right? And since when have we ever let death get the best of us?”

At his brother’s last point, Sam’s heart jolted in his chest. You really were practically a Winchester. And he’d loved the way it felt being able to call you his wife and being referred to as your husband in return.

The next hour passed at an agonizingly slow rate, with Sam and Dean fidgeting silently in their seats through most it.

“Mr. Windsor?” When the doctor got no response, he tried again, “Family of Y/N Windsor?”

At the sound of your name, Sam vaulted off his chair, realizing he’d nearly missed his calling. Hurtling towards the doctor, Sam almost miscalculated his braking distance. “I’m here! That’s me, I’m her husband!” he burst forth breathlessly.

“Well I’m here to tell you Y/N’s out of surgery. The C-section was a success, and she should be waking up shortly. Oh and congratulations, you have another son.”

“Wait, so she and the babies are OK?” Dean checked from his spot behind Sam.

“Yes, we have no reason to believe she or either of the babies are in any further danger.”

Sam released the largest breath known to mankind. “C-can I see her? Can I see them?”

The doctor sent him a smile and a nod before giving them your room number. Sam was off like a bullet with Dean hot behind his heels, but when they reached your door, the older Winchester elected to stay back a little, wanting to permit your new family some time alone first.

You were just coming to your senses when Sam walked in. Adjusting your bed to a seated position, you looked up to find him staring at you, “Sam?”

“Oh, thank fuck,” he exhaled before falling to his knees at your bedside. “You scared the shit out of me, baby. Please don’t ever do that again.” Sam buried his head in your thigh, so you ran your fingers lovingly through his soft chestnut locks, allowing him a moment of reprieve.

When he raised his head to face you, his eyes were red and cheeks stained with tears. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You gave him a confused look, “What do you mean? Are the babies OK?”

“Yeah, they’re fine but the doctor said your complications were most likely the result of previous injuries and the fact that you were carrying big babies.”

You huffed a gentle sigh, “Baby, we both knew there was a higher risk associated with a multiple pregnancy. And of course my hunter background wouldn’t be any help. But how is any of that your fault?”

Sam didn’t respond with words; he merely fixed his watery puppy dog gaze upon yours, which just about caused you to break down with him, but you had promised yourself to always denounce this type of behavior. “Sammy, how many times do I have to tell you? I never wanna hear you apologizing for things you can’t control. And I especially never wanna hear you apologize for any part of who you are, because I am so completely and irrevocably in love with that person that it hurts me just the same, do you understand?”

Sam nodded and you wiped the tears from his cheekbones, beckoning him to stand back up, though his head was still pointed down.

“Hey, I’m OK, alright?” You grabbed his hand, waiting until his shoulders visibly relaxed before adding impatiently, “Now when do I get to see my babies? Please tell me I can see them now.”

“Y-yeah, lemme go bring them over.”

You nodded enthusiastically, feeling a surge of energy flow back into your body at the thought of finally meeting your twins. So when Sam returned, wheeling two hospital cribs through the door, you were virtually bouncing with anticipation.

“You were right, baby.” Sam shot you a handsome little smirk.

“What?”

“We’ve got two boys.”

“Really?” You gasped, the emotions finally catching up with you after all the hardships you’d faced in the past twenty-four hours.

“What? No ‘I told you so’?” Sam teased lightly.

But you were much too in awe for that. “No, just… gimme,” you pouted, holding your arms out expectantly.

“You sure?”

“Sam, if you don’t hand me at least one of my babies right now, I swear to Chuck-“

“Alright, alright, no need to bring God into this,” Sam chuckled, sliding your firstborn carefully into your eager and waiting arms.

“Oh my god, he’s perfect.”

“Yeah? So is this little guy,” Sam had picked up the other infant and was beaming fondly down at him.

You spared a glance at them and giggled at the sight.

“What?”

“Nothing, just… he looks so small in your arms.”

Sam’s entire being exuded radiance, “So what are we gonna name them?”

It wasn’t long before you called for Dean and he strolled somewhat nervously into your room.

Cradling his eldest son in his arms, Sam sent his brother a warm and proud smile, “Dean, we’d like you to meet Robert John and…”

“Lucas Dean Winchester,” you finished, gesturing to the baby boy in your arms. “Well, Luke and Robbie for short.”

Dean’s emerald eyes grew wide and a little wet. He looked back and forth between you and Sam as if to confirm what he had heard was true.

You smiled at him, nodding. “You’ve always meant the world to Sam, and if I’m honest, you mean the world to me too. And I am beyond certain that these boys will grow to love you no less than either of us. Besides, none of us would be here if it weren’t for you.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, and you knew he needed to process his emotions.

“That’s awesome,” he said, though you knew he meant ‘thank you’.

“You wanna hold them?” Sam asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Dean grinned back, then looked toward you.

You held back a laugh, “You wanna start with your namesake, don’t you?”

“Hell yeah!” Sam shot him a mini bitch face, “Sorry, I-I mean, heck yeah!”

Snorting, you carefully handed Dean the bundle of blankets in which Lucas Dean was wrapped.

“There’s just one more thing I wanna say,” Sam’s voice brought your attention back to him.

You gave him a curious look and he seemed to almost blush under your gaze, which only confused you further.

“Y/N, I never thought I’d get to have all this, but you’ve made me so unbelievably happy, and I know it shouldn’t matter, but there’s been something ruminating in the back of my mind ever since we got to the hospital- no, actually ever since we made those fake IDs.”

Now you were really lost, eyeing him perplexedly. You looked over to Dean for some help, but he seemed not in the least bit surprised. In fact, he appeared to be perfectly content, paying zero attention to you and his brother and cooing happily at baby Luke as he bounced him in his arms.

“Baby,” Sam continued, “I know you’ve never really wanted or cared about this, and I know we can never make it a hundred percent official, but- Y/N, will you marry me?”

It was a good thing you were no longer holding any babies, because Sam’s question took you completely off guard.

“W-what?” you stammered, staring at him with large eyes.

Sam chuckled and looked down at Robbie, “I think your mom heard me just fine, don’t you, buddy?”

Your mouth stayed open for some time as you tried to absorb it all.

“Any time now, Y/N. Any time,” Dean interrupted without glancing up from Luke.

“Y-yes!” You finally replied.

“Really?” Sam asked again.

“Yeah! Obviously! I mean, who else would I marry but my incredible, brilliant, tall, and gorgeous baby daddy?”

At this point, Sam had passed Dean his oldest son, helping him balance both babies in his arms, before rushing back over to you. He took your face in both hands and kissed you like it was the first and last time. You leaned up to reach him and run your fingers through his shimmering tresses but you refrained from taking the kiss too far, figuring you’d save Dean the torture given all he had just done for your family.

“Well, alright! Two Winchesters coming in, and five going out. Nice work, Sammy!”

You released Sam and sent Dean a bitch face of your own.

“But- I mean, none of this would have been possible without you, Y/N/N,” he quickly amended, “I mean, who could forget that you nearly died bringing these two to the world? What’s that, the third time you’ve cheated Death now? That alone is enough to make you an official Winchester in my books.”

“Well, technically we’re all Windsors in this hospital.”

A/N #2: thank you for reading! ...i’m thinking of turning this into a series of sorts, like a collection of stories about sam and reader’s lives after the twins (because i’ve got iDeAs brewing), would anyone be interested? ❤️ also, here’s a look at some new stuff at lexicolor.redbubble.com:

tagging some peeps who seemed to enjoy part 1 :) @carryonmywaywardbucky @girl-next-door-writes​ @sams-sass​ @swiftlymoniquesblog @austin-winchester67 @idreamofhazel @hoboal87 

[hoboal87]

Baby Mine

Title: Baby Mine

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, Reader, Jody, Alex, Claire, Bobby

Word Count: 1600+

Summary: You and Sam prepare for the birth of your son.

Warnings: post 15 x 20, fluff, implied dom/sub relationship, non-graphic descriptions of labor, breastfeeding.

A/N: This is my super late entry into @superbadassnatural​‘s #333 badass followers challenge. My prompts are “I didn’t expect it to be this big,” and “this is disgusting”

A/N 2: This is set in the same universe as “The Tie,” and “Carry On,” but it can be read as a stand-alone.

No Beta, all mistakes are mine. I have tense issues, I know.

My Full Masterlist

Miracle’s head lies on your lap as you do your best to remain calm. You can feel the wetness of her nose against the small sliver of your exposed belly. It was unseasonably warm for South Dakota in the spring, and if you could’ve you would’ve been walking around naked all the time. Growing a Winchester has not been an easy task, and your doctor informed you at your last check up the baby will be at least 9 lbs.

Nine. Freaking. Pounds. You’re going to be pushing a nine pound baby out of your body, and Sam was already talking about having another one in a few years! You can’t even imagine wanting to go through all this again. Even though Jody and the mothers you’ve befriended over the last few months have assured you, that you’ll forget about all the bad, all the sickness, all the discomfort you’ve been feeling the second the baby’s born.

A clattering from your bedroom pulls you out of your head, giving you a moment of reprise. Sam’s muffled swears have you giggling as he frantically tries to pack your hospital bag. Jody had advised you to pack one over a month ago, but you and Sam had been so focused on making sure the nursery was ready, as well as warding your home, that you hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

Another grunt comes from the hall as Sam seemingly runs into your bathroom, and then into the nursery, where the baby's coming home outfit was luckily laid out on the changing table. By the time Sam makes it back into the living room, he’s nearly out of breath, eyes falling on you as your face scrunches in pain.

You’ve been in the early stages since last night, but you’d woken up to much more intense contractions a few hours ago. Sam takes your hand in his as you wince as a contraction rolls through you. He eyes the watch on his wrist, Dean’s watch, keeping track of the duration and time between each wave of pain.

“Y/N,” Sam whispers, calming himself when your eyes connect to his. “I think it’s time.”

“Alex said 5 minutes,” you huff, rubbing your swollen belly and giving him a pained smile. Having a nurse in the family was the best thing you could ever ask for. Alex, on the other hand, probably wishes she wasn’t, especially after Sam started calling her in the middle of the night with the most ridiculous questions that you’d ever heard of. You’d finally gotten him to stop, apologizing to Alex for another 3 a.m. frantic phone call about the possibility of the baby being born extra appendages.

Once Sam had adjusted to the news of your pregnancy, he dove deep into research, not that you were expecting anything else from him. Parenting magazines cover your coffee table, multiple books on pregnancy and birth are stacked on his bedside table, and he’d watched every youtube video relating to pregnancy and taking care of a newborn.

“I know, but baby we’re getting there. You’ve gone from 10 minutes to 7 in the last hour. The parenting book said–” You roll your eyes, your inner brat coming to the surface after months of being stifled. “Babygirl,” Sam tone changes, and you instantly relax at the phrase you haven’t heard in nearly a year. “Don’t think I haven’t been keeping track of all the punishments you’ll be getting as soon as you can handle it.”

It's just the distraction you need, and your eyes divert to the car seat against the wall.

Sam had tried and failed twice already on installing the carrier in the back seat of the Impala, spewing profanity as you watched, chuckling from the front porch. After nearly an hour, Sam gave up on the car seat, and joined you on the porch, his hand splaying softly over stomach. He leaned over, and placed a sweaty kiss on your lips, it was moments like those that Jody told you to cherish; and both you and Sam made it a point to do so.

“Then you better figure out how to properly install that in the back seat,” you sass.

An annoyed laugh leaves Sam as he glares at the yet-to-be defeated carrier, hesitating now to leave your side.

“It can wait.”

“It really can’t, babe,” you chuckle softly.

It’s less than an hour later that you and Sam pull up to Sioux Falls General Hospital. He’s holding you steady as you waddle towards the check-in desk. An orderly appears with a wheelchair, and wheels you away as Sam hands over all of your pre-registered paperwork. Alex is by your side before you realize it, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. She helps you dress into a hospital gown, and Sam rejoins you just as you take a seat on the bed.

Sam watches helplessly as your face contorts as another contraction rolls through your body. You squeeze his hand tightly, sure that you’re leaving crescent-shaped marks on him. This one is different than the others, it’s more intense, and longer-lasting than the others had been.

“Y/N, look at me, baby, you’re doing so good,” Sam praises as you whimper through the contraction. Sam leans forward and presses a kiss on your forehead as the pain subsides. “You’re so strong, Y/N.”

“I didn’t expect it to be that big.”

Five hours later, you’re cradling your newborn son against your chest. Sam’s behind you, whispering praises in your ears and holding you tight against him. You present your breast to the babe, encouraging him to latch on, and to your delight he does so quickly. Sam makes a joke about how Dean was always a boob man, and you comment how his namesake must’ve inherited his predilection as well.

Sam tenses behind you, and you quickly realize your mistake. Dean was always on your mind, and moreso Sam’s, but you rarely, if ever, said his name out loud. It seemed to pain Sam to hear his brother’s name, so you avoided it as much as you could. But now the baby is here, and you wonder if it's a good idea to name him after the fallen Winchester.

Sam’s hands are wrapped around your still swollen center, and you turn your face to his. Tears are escaping from his hazel eyes, and when they meet your Y/E/C ones, he gives you a small smile.

“We don’t have to name him Dean,” you offer, even though you honestly couldn’t think of a more fitting name for your son. “If you don’t–”

“It’s not that, baby,” he sighs, wiping at the fallen tears. “I just– I miss him. Dean should– he should be here. He should be here to meet our son.”

You nod, and focus your attention back on the newborn, suckling gently at your breast. One of Sam’s hands leaves your stomach, and his fingers brush against the infant’s soft skin, remarking that he’d never seen a baby with so much hair, and that he looked so small. You chuckle, and remind him that if he had to push a nine-pound watermelon out of his body, he wouldn’t think it was small.

Sam concedes, unable to contain his laughter, and the brief tension that was in the room disappears and doesn’t return. After little Dean is finished, you and Sam take turns counting his fingers and toes, cooing at your son as you take in all his features.

A nurse returns, and you reluctantly let her take Dean away to be properly cleaned, weighed and measured. She instructs both you and Sam to sleep while you can, joking that you’ll be getting very little from now on. Thanks to Sam being a human incubator you curl up against him and let all of the exhaustion from the last 24 hours finally catch back up to you.

You're woken by Sam a few hours later, informing you that Jody, the girls, and Bobby are outside. Sam slips from behind you, and disappears out of the room for a moment before returning with your found family. Jody’s eyes are filled with tears, throwing her arms around you, congratulating you as Bobby claps Sam on the back.

The same nurse returns with Dean as everyone settles in their places around the room. Jody instantly fawns over the baby caressing his chubby cheeks before allowing Sam to pick him up and hand him over to her.

Jody makes a solid promise to spoil the boy rotten. Claire’s body language changed when Alex handed baby Dean over, and after a few minutes, didn’t want to seem to let him go. Bobby becomes impatient as Claire refuses to pass the baby on. Finally, Sam steps in, plucking the baby from her arms, and walking over to Bobby.

“You ready to meet your grandson?” Sam asks, and a smile you’d never seen before appears on Bobby’s face. Sam places the swaddled baby into Bobby’s arms, and you’re sure you see a tear slip down his cheek.

“Looks like he’s takin’ after his momma,'' Bobby laughs. “Lucky boy, hopefully you won’t be an idjit like your daddy and uncle,” he sends you a playful wink. “Just know you ain’t alone, kid. You got more people who will love and protect you than any other kid in the world.”

“Did you tell ‘em?” You ask, trying to move into a slightly more comfortable position.

“Tell us what?” Jody asks from the chair beside your bed.

“Y/N and I, we want you and Bobby to be his godparents. If anything were to ever happen to us, we want you to take care of him.”

“Well, maybe you can tell us his name first,” Claire pipes up, and you hadn’t even realized that you hadn’t told them yet.

“Dean,” Sam eyes his son still in Bobby’s arms. “Dean Robert Winchester.”

Let me know what you think via ask or reblog! Feedback is fuel!

[steveyockey]

Non spn anon: thank you for answering my confusing question, sorry it was confusing 😅 I must say I’m so intrigued by all the Dean gender discussion posts I’ve seen so when I learned there was a satin underwear moment I was like ?!?!?!!!!! On SPN of all shows? Just so much to unpack here. Anyway thank you again 🙏🏻

okay like I know you didn’t actually ask a question but this ask has been driving me crazy because “on SPN of all shows” non spn anon you wouldn’t know this because you, of course, do not watch spn, but this sort of slippage occurs all the time with dean! as was written in the gospel of dean by tumblr user marcusantonius, the slippage occurs so many fucking times (he likes to wear nightgowns! he knows purgatory is name of a gay club in miami! he’s made everyone he lives with watch lost boys over thirty times! he recites rent lyrics! soft spot for dirty dancing [“swayze always gets a pass”]! loves doctor sexy aka the in universe equivalent of greys! weird kinky sex references about zorro masks and whips!) and with such an earnestness that it actually actively reconstitutes dean against the superordinate classification of Absolute Heterosexual Male the narrative leans on as his assumed identity! 

the thing about a lot of meta on gay/bi readings of dean is that. well. da miller has a piece called “anal rope” where he uses this understanding of coding as a difference between connotation and denotation, basically things that have the potential for a certain reading vs the literal text,

 “connotation... excites the desire for proof, a desire that, so long as it develops within the connotative register, tends to draft every signifier into what nonetheless remains a hopeless task — hence the desire assumes another, complementary form in the dream (impossible to realize, but impossible not to entertain) that connotation would quit its dusky existence for fluorescent literality, would become denotation.”

it’s the same problem sedgwick refers to as “We Know What That Means” in epistemology of the closet, 

“to have succeeded... in cracking the centuries-old code by which the-articulated-denial-of-articulability always had the possibility of meaning two things, of meaning either (heterosexual) ‘nothing’ or ‘homosexual meaning,’ would also always have been to assume one's place in a discourse in which there was a homosexual meaning, in which all homosexual meaning meant a single thing.”

and I have to say anon that back in fandom circa 2014 the panties thing drove me CRAZY because I felt like it was everywhere all the time in every post about bi dean or gay dean or queerbait or queercoding or endverse spiral but NO ONE would ever explain it! “We KNOW What That Means”!! it filtered out into every single fucking fic where dean discovers his sexuality, I swear to god I read so many stories where he had this big sexual identity crisis during which part of the realization would be the panties, just the panties, the fact that he liked them an illumination in and of itself. exactly as you articulated it, a “satin underwear moment.” most interestingly (to me, at least), the idea of the panties makes an appearance in twist and shout but in REVERSE with cas being the one wearing the panties (almost as though through some sort of metacognition the writers understood they were making a work so profoundly out of step with the actual characters the meaning of the panties no longer aligned with the dean they had written - but what about the panties had aligned with dean in the first place!?). 

what DO the panties mean! they could mean a lot of things! sexual domination symbolic castration transgenderism kink fantasy shakespearean crossdressing something something gender roles battering rams to masculinity redefinitions of masculinity transgression of masculinity permeability of the borders of masculinity — nothing about the panties is inherently anything, it’s just about what you as the reader understand their meaning to be, the connotation YOU confer onto the text on the basis that rhonda hurley made dean try on her panties and he “kind of liked it,” and, somehow, and perhaps this is the key, this knowledge is what will convince a future self of dean winchester that his present self is the same self. and of course on the one hand it’s obvious that the assumed private nature of this knowledge, that dean would not have told this story to anyone else and thus only dean and rhonda can confirm its veracity, is the motivator for dean’s admission, but where’s the fun in that! and besides, that does nothing to explain how it come so easily, and so comfortably, which is how a lot of dean’s sexuality is supposed to come to him and part of the project he is cultivating as the Absolute Heterosexual Male! he’s a womanizer he’s a ladies man, again, to quote the gospel, “lovable fucker, always fuckable,” and something about the panties does fit into that, into what has been denoted about dean and sex and how he desires, but! it’s been denoted so thoroughly to collapse the image onto itself, so insistently proffered over and over again that it begs a question of itself and of the very comfortability that dean purports to have in his sexuality and the manner in which he wants you to think he wants the girl in the zorro mask to slap him. so the panties, which could be a reassurance of this comfort in this firm Heterosexual-Though-Non-Normative-Sexually Identity, instead become an object that connotes, along with every other little tic, every slippage, every glance, a hidden truth, a discomfort, a necessity to insist that there is not a secret buried beneath the open-bookedness of his sex life. it isn’t even actually about the connotation striving to become denotation, but rather that the denotation itself lacks stability and so connotation becomes identity as the performance of this heterosexual self tips into parody. masculinity. what a beast.

[zbeez-outlet]

1, 9, 34 :)

1. Who is/are your comfort character(s)?

Most recently Levi Ackerman (Attack on Titan), Poe Dameron (Star Wars), Bakugo Katsuki (My Hero Academia), and Sirius Black (Harry Potter) because I've been reading a lot of reader-insert fanfic with them. But I've had dozens over the years.

Sophie from Howl's Moving Castle is one of my favorites, so relatable and strong and accepting. I highly recommend the film. Dean Winchester from Supernatural was a major comfort character when I was a teenager and obsessed with the show - characters that come off hard or confident or even arrogant but are actually soft and caring are the ones I'm most drawn to. The Doctor from Doctor Who (specifically Ten, played by David Tennant because I have a huge crush on him) was another big one for me. I'm sure my therapist could explain why on a deeper psychological level, but honestly I think they're just so compelling and complex.

When I was a kid Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh and Stitch from Lilo and Stitch were my go-to characters for comfort. I had (and still have) stuffed animals to cuddle and doodles that I made of them.

9. Which do you prefer, hot coffee or cold coffee?

I actually don't drink coffee! I love the smell but even hidden behind sweeteners or cream or flavorings, I just don't like the taste of coffee and caffeinated drinks don't really do anything for me except make me anxious or jittery. I'm really boring haha, I mostly just drink water. If I have to pick, I'd probably say cold coffee because in general I'm not really a fan of hot drinks.

34. Is there a song you know every word to by heart?

'Hey Jude' by The Beatles for a couple of reasons. My dad played a lot of classic rock when I was growing up and this one was my favorite, he used to put it on for me to fall asleep to; it was a staple in the show Supernatural which, as I mentioned earlier, I was obsessed with as a teen; and I just think it's a beautiful song. I don't really listen to a lot of music with lyrics. I've kind of answered this in a previous ask, but I listen to a lot of classical music and OSTs for films, tv shows, or video games because they help me focus and rarely have words which are just distracting to me.

There was a point in high school when I knew almost every word to every song in the Twenty One Pilots album 'Blurryface', but I doubt I'd remember much of it now - it's not really my style anymore haha.

I feel like I know every word to 'Bohemian Rhapsody' by Queen, but I don't remember trying to memorize or learn it. Just always existed in my head for some reason.

Weird Asks

Watercolor Asks

35 Questions for Fanfic Writers

Fanfiction Writer Asks

If you want to get to know me more, send in an ask!

[stusbunker]

AGA: Spit It Out

A Supernatural Denny AU

Featuring: Dean Winchester/ Benny Lafitte

Other Characters: John and Mary, Jody, Garth, Anna, Castiel, Sam, (mentioned) Benny, Jo, Jack

Word Count: 4222

Summary: Dean has the toughest conversation of his life. Cas asks questions. Sam is a little shit.

Warnings: Homophobic language, internalized biphobia, coming out

Series Masterlist

Shout out to the amazing @cracksinthewalls​ for all her help on this series.

       Dean hadn’t realized how terrified he was of facing his father until he broke down at Jo’s. It hadn’t felt like something he would ever have to do until then. Now, it felt as inevitable as a death sentence.

John had always been a huge force in Dean’s life, but since he had gotten hurt to the point of disability, he was less of a presence and more of an imprint. Letting down his folks was the ultimate sin, one Dean had fought his whole life to resist. He knew they loved him, but would it be enough for them to see beyond the idea of Dean they had in their heads. Could they love a pansy?

His mother would be easier to bring on board; he was her favorite whether she’d admit it or not. On the other hand, John was a Marine, he was a mechanic; he didn’t deal with feelings or things he thought were reckless, selfish choices. Dean had never been selfish a day in his life, but this was something that seemed worth it. Benny was worth it. Dean couldn’t give up on family, and he needed them in his corner if it was going to work at all.

First, Dean just needed to get the words out.

The wind whipped through the neighborhood he grew up in like a child unleashed upon the playground. Direction and speed split its focus until it stilled long enough to move on to the next distraction. Dean parked on the street, letting the familiar siding and newer front door center him as he approached, trying to ignore the uneasiness that was unfurling in his gut. Sam was having lunch with some guys from high school who were in town early for Thanksgiving, granting Dean this window of privacy.

Not that Dean told Sam anything. He had done enough talking at Jo’s, even Benny didn’t know everything that he’d been processing the last few days. He hadn’t wanted to make any promises. Dean walked into the house, calling out his greeting, never one to knock at home. John was parked in front of the television in the living room while Mary sent her welcome from somewhere in the basement. 

“Hey! Talk about timing, lunch is just about done,” John teased. “What brings you ‘round? Sammy’s out for the day.”

“Yeah, Dad, I know. Kinda why I came,” Dean shoved his hands in the pockets of jeans, still standing.

“Jayhawks are playing at two if you wanna stay,” John offered. Dean hummed in uncertainty. John dragged his feet from the ottoman to sit up and face Dean better. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, nothing we can’t talk about over lunch. I’m gonna go see if Mom needs anything,” Dean nodded towards the basement steps and left John to his football.

Dean bowed his head as he reached the bottom of the steps, clearing the duct work to find Mary folding laundry at the long narrow table they used for everything from school projects to writing out Christmas cards. 

“I thought that was you,” Mary said pleasantly. “Did your dad tell you lunch was almost ready?”

She dropped the shirt she had finished atop an awkward pile and opened her arms for a hug. Dean scooped her up, probably a little too enthusiastically, but he didn’t care and she didn’t mind. A simple gasp told him she noticed though.

“So--- what’s the occasion?” Mary asked, turning back to the basket.

“Nothing really, just wanted to catch up,” Dean downplayed, grabbing a pair of jeans to help. Neither of them pointed out that they’d see each other the next day for Sunday dinner. Mary welcomed the visit as much as Dean was dreading it.

“Your father had physical therapy yesterday. I don’t think they get paid enough,” Mary conspired with a heavy side eye.

Dean chuckled, “I’m guessing not his at least.”

“And supposedly I’m the stubborn one,” Mary muttered. “If you want to make some sandwiches, I’m almost done down here. I don’t want to spread the soup too thin.”

Dean nodded and handed her the sweater he had folded last. “Sounds good, anything in particular?”

“Just don’t let him trick you into letting him have the salami, his doctor says he needs to watch the fats,” Mary warned.

Dean perched against the edge of the steps, listening. He slapped the banister and headed back upstairs. “On it.”

The kitchen’s layout hadn’t changed in thirty years and Dean quickly set up an assembly line with poultry, condiments, lettuce and tomatoes. He tucked the cheese with the processed deli meat back in the drawer, hiding the temptation from John. But not before stealing a slice for his and Mary’s sandwiches. He set the table, like hundreds of times before. John’s spot was the head of the table, Mary to his left. Dean set his own plate on John’s right, a seat he fought Sam for more often than not.

Dean stirred the pot, which was much more a vat, of chicken noodle soup. John’s approach was announced by the steady clink of his cane on the hardwood floor of the hallway. Dean pulled out John’s chair before settling down to his heaping sandwich and extra large bowl of soup.

John lifted the top tier of his sandwich, judging the contents. “She got to you, didn’t she?”

Dean just chewed purposely and gave John innocent eyes.

“Figures,” John muttered before bellowing through the house. “Mary! Soup’s ready.”

They ate comfortably, fighting the cold outside with the warmth of the familiarity of a shared meal. The grease from the chicken made bubbles in the broth and Dean blew across the surface mixing them back in. Meanwhile Mary made small talk and John teased her about her part time job. 

“Well, I need to get out of the house, or we’d kill each other, you know that,” Mary flicked John’s ear as she cleared their bowls. 

“How’s that going?” Dean asked, eyes fixed on his mother’s face. Panic clogged his ears at the thought of never seeing her again.

“‘S fine. People are picky, but it isn’t bad for what it is. Better than being behind a desk or answering the phone,” Mary explained of her work at the local sporting goods store. “Friday will be nuts, lots of sales, but it’s not like we would have been doing anything anyway.”

“So, Bobby and Ellen’s on Thursday?” Dean verified.

“Yup, dinner’s at 1. He says you’re on pie duty?” John asked, surprised.

“That I am. Sam’s stuck with sides, so please remind him. I don’t want to show up and only have rolls and turkey,” Dean asked Mary.

“Can do. We’re bringing the---,” Mary started.

“Cranberry sauce,” Dean and John said in unison.

“And the wine!” Mary said in dismay at their laughter. “Jerks.”

John and Dean grinned as Mary rolled her eyes. 

“So, was that everything? It seemed like you had something to hash out with us,” John asked Dean, picking up the last of his sandwich.

“Yeah, mostly. I gotta check with Ellen first, but I might be bringing somebody along,” Dean rushed out. He tipped his bowl back, finishing the final dregs.

“A special someone?” Mary asked delicately, looking at John in hope.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Dean grunted, standing to grab another sandwich.

“Well, is it somebody we know?” Mary prodded, not trying to be too pushy, but obviously curious. “Dean, why are we just now hearing about this?”

Mary’s tone had shifted to apprehension, Dean felt their silent conversation behind his back as he slapped the ingredients together. He shrugged in response, unable to find a proper jumping off point.

He tried to remain casual, but the dred had clawed back up. Without enough wherewithal to speak, Dean sat back down and ate, drawing out his confession to the point of confusion. 

John chuckled at Mary’s suspicion. “He’s nervous. Let the boy get it out.”

Dean rolled his eyes at the phrase. “I’m thirty six, Dad,” he said through a mouthful.

“Is that right? Coulda fooled me.” John tisked his tongue. Mary ignored his teasing tone.

“Dean, what’s the matter? What’s this girl’s problem that’s making you act so--- cagey all the sudden?” Mary asked anxiously. John slipped Mary’s hand into his, silently soothing her as they waited for Dean’s answer.

“Uh, yeah, about that,” Dean started, sitting back, and shooting for blase. “Turns out I actually like guys, too. So, uh, there’s no problem with a girl. I just wanted to bring, um, this guy I’ve been seeing, Benny, to Bobby and Ellen’s.”

Mary inhaled and clenched John’s hand. John stopped stroking Mary’s arm and twisted in his seat. Dean exhaled slowly, like a pin prick in a deflating balloon, he couldn’t take any of it back. Dean took a chance and looked out through his lashes, face tilted towards his plate. First to Mary’s blue worry and then a flicker to John’s almost black disbelief.

John swallowed and ducked low enough to force Dean’s eyes onto his. "You tellin' me you take it up the ass, is that what you're sayin?"

"Jesus. John!" Mary reproached. But neither man's glare faltered. The dark challenge in John's eyes caused Dean's lips to turn up in a silent snarl.

Dean finally broke the silence. "You really want me to answer that?" 

"I think I have a right to know exactly the kind of man my son is," John countered.

Mary stood abruptly. “He's your son! What's the matter with you?! You asking Sam his jerkin' habits now that he's single, while you're at it?!" She went to the sink, bowing over it as if it would cleanse the images the conversation had conjured.

“Oh, hell, that’s not the point,” John muttered.

Dean had been arrested in high school for drag racing. The whole ride home from the police station he was worried what his dad was gonna do to him once they got home, it was the same quiet rage that had terrified Dean as a child. But it was Mary’s disappointment when they walked in the door that tore into Dean to the point of scarring. He could live with his father’s anger, Sam had taught Dean how to slowly stand up to John over the years.

But Dean didn’t know if he could live in the shadow of Mary’s disappointment. He needed somebody to see him as himself, not just a screw up or a queer. 

Dean sighed. "I am your son. But if you can't handle this, Dad. I don't think you have any right to know me anymore." He looked from Mary to John as the last sentence left his mouth. Maybe he was asking too much after all.

Everyone in the room froze. But not even an ultimatum like that could stop John Winchester from digging himself deeper. "Christ, son, Jo really did a number on you, didn't she? Made you turn tail to the other team all together."

"Leave Jo out of this,” Dean spit out as he stood up. “This is about me and who I'm with now." He stalked the long way around the table, shoving chairs in as he went. He approached Mary alone, carefully, one terrified animal to another. "You'd love him, Mom. He cooks, runs his own business, even got an old Harley in the garage."

Mary couldn't hide her tears, but she tried to smile through them for Dean's sake. "Sounds like a catch, sweetie. But what matters is if you love him. You don't need our say so."

"Don't I?" Dean replied sadly before glancing over Mary’s shoulder to John. "You know Jo told me to give you the finger if you couldn’t see how happy I am. How important Benny is to me. And maybe she's right. But I wanted this to work. I wanted to keep the family together. That's why I'm here. The rest is up to you, Old Man."

Dean kissed his mother on the cheek, between murmured reassurances and left without another word to John. He teetered on the brink, somewhere between busting his knuckles against the cold glass of the impala’s window and losing his lunch on the frostbitten ground. Somehow, Dean made it into the solitude of the driver’s seat before he broke down and sobbed. The only saving grace he got was when his mother's voice roared from inside the house.

Dean dragged the salt and snot from his face with a heavy palm and started the engine. He couldn't stay there, but he didn't know where to go either. He just drove.

    Dean pulled into the parking lot at The Pearly Gates on autopilot. He’d spent the afternoon equally suppressing and dissecting his conversation with his parents as he kept it even between the lines of two lane country roads. Now, Dean was ready to be somebody else, to make drinks and flirt and just forget everything that had happened.

    The college football crowd was winding down, which allowed Dean some time to catch up with the day shift bartenders Garth and Jody. Back before Cas got blindsided with the responsibility of business ownership, Cas, Dean, Ash and Artie would claim a booth near the pool tables and blow their grocery money every weekend. When Sam moved back after law school he and Mick joined the crowd that were regularly praised for paying for Jody’s son’s braces.

    Garth had been the first dragged from the friend pool to fill the schedule when Cas’s brother dropped off the face of the earth. Though Garth volunteered, Dean knew it was just out of the goodness of his heart, not a need for extra cash. 

    “Here he is!” Garth announced Dean’s arrival. Luckily for Dean, Garth was pouring a beer otherwise he would have been wrapped in one of Garth’s spider monkey-like hugs. A few regulars in the corner raised their glasses to Dean in greeting as he passed by with his company smile. Jody whipped by him, fresh out of the stock room with her arms full of their dollar bags of chips they sold to keep from having to run a full kitchen.

    “Look who’s early,” Jody exclaimed before dropping the load onto the back counter. “You trying to cut into my time there, Winchester?”

    “You know if you ever want more hours, you just gotta ask,” Dean offered suggestively, strolling behind the bar.

    Jody sputtered dramatically, “And work nights? No, thank you.”

    “It was worth a shot,” Dean replied, shrugging at Garth who knew better.

    Jody sighed and cocked her head. “You’re cute, but you’re not that cute.”

    Dean ducked his head against the compliment as she patted his arm apologetically. 

    “Want me to split your tips before you go?” Dean asked, bending out of his jacket.

    “That’d be lovely,” Jody answered, sorting the chips by kind. “Garth get’s an extra twenty because Bess and Donna were ‘round.”

    “Look at you, Mr. Slick,” Dean teased as he grabbed the old milk bottle filled with mostly singles. Garth blushed.

    “You know what they say Dean-o, flattery is everything,” Garth explained. Dean, who routinely had the most tips out of any of the staff, including Bela, just nodded at the quirky dude. Dean doled out their shares and washed up before officially punching in. 

    Jody was gone as soon as Anna arrived, but Garth waited for Jack to show before leaving her and Dean on their own. It was seven o’clock before Cas arrived instead of his unreliable nephew.

    “Everything alright?” Dean asked knowingly as Cas hung his trench coat on a broken notch on the rail beside the server’s station.

    “Jack is under the weather,” Cas explained blandly. Dean eyed the windows, taking in the light flurries that danced in the streetlight. “I guess I’ll have to do tonight.”

    It was a surprisingly unremarkable shift, the weather kept traffic bearable even after Anna’s shift ended at midnight. Dean walked her out the back to her car, like he always did as the plow eased out of the parking lot. 

    “You gonna be alright with him for the rest of the night?” Anna whispered before they breached the cold. Her big brown eyes held more mischief than worry. 

    “Goodnight, Anna,” Dean drew out as he held the door sternly. 

    “Night, Dean,” Anna chuckled. Dean watched her tiptoe around the icy patches and make it to her old Tahoe. He made sure it started before heading back behind the bar, and three more hours with Castiel. 

    The speakers were set lower than usual to balance their minimal customers. On his shifts, Dean had always insisted on having control over the musical selection. So when he walked into a pop singer’s version of mopey folk he did a double take before bee lining for the stereo. 

    “Please, don’t,” Cas’s simply requested from somewhere to Dean’s right. “I kind of like this song, but more importantly one of the customer’s requested a change of station.”

    Dean eyed the patrons like suspects in a line up, uncertain who would blaspheme in such a way. No one seemed particularly guilty and he had to let it go. Between drinks, Dean washed glasses in the small sink behind the bar until Cas was finally able to start his nightly paperwork. The last couple paid their tab just after 1:30, leaving them holding their breaths in hope as they started to put up the chairs. 

    “Is it often this quiet?” Cas wondered aloud, “I don’t recall Saturday’s business to dwindle so.”

    Dean smiled to himself; leave it to Cas to look a gift horse of a slow night in the mouth. “No, man, this is not the usual. But, it worked out. And thanks for filling in for the kid, I know you don’t like getting your hands dirty.”

    Cas quietly beamed at Dean’s gratitude before pausing at the not so subtle jab at the end. They went through the remaining end of day routine in silence. Dean turned off the faux neon signs in the windows to signal the early close as Cas handled the money. Dean would usually even out the till and split tips with Jack, leaving the deposit for Cas to handle the next day. Instead he was left with cleaning detail as the boss man did the accounting.

    Before long Dean was rolling the dirty mop bucket back to the office/store room/ kitchen/ employee area. Exhaustion had eaten at Dean’s internal walls, leaving him on the slippery edge between slap-happy and zombie. He hummed to keep his eyes open, waiting on Cas to finally call it a night and let Dean clock out.

    “We don’t talk anymore,” Cas said abruptly, without looking up from the cash machine. Dean’s head shot up, concern furrowing his features. “In fact, I’m prone to think you don’t like me at all, Dean.”

    “What do you mean, we’re talking right now,” Dean downplayed defensively. Cas glanced up over his desk, mild surprise evident. Cas always seemed such a mystery to Dean, from his social awkwardness to his blunt observations. Dean had come to envy Cas’s almost innocent lack of need to perform for others, to be anyone but himself. He had forgotten that Cas would read into his demeanor in the uncanniest of ways.

    “True, we are. But are we?” Cas typed the code into the safe and waited for the time delayed entry. “We used to hang out, watch football, play pool, or cards even.”

    “We’ve got bowling every week, man,” Dean wrung out the mophead and latched it onto the rack on the wall. He was trying to remember the last time he and Cas had fun, just the two of them and couldn’t recall a single occurrence over the past year.

    “I miss you. I miss my friend,” Cas replied sadly. “And I don’t know what I did to ruin it, but I want you to know that I didn’t mean to.”

    Dean closed his eyes and grimaced. “Hey, no, it’s not like that,” Dean started. He walked over and leaned against the edge of the desk, assertive reassurance written all over his face. “Look, I’m tired. Working all week and then coming here is kicking my ass. So I don’t have a lot of free time or brain capacity to hang out like we used to. But I’m doing my best, man.”

    Cas looked like a confused puppy, eyes drooping and head tilted. “That isn’t it. There’s something else, something you’re not telling me?”

    Dean huffed and shook his head, hands raised in exasperation. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I like you, okay? We’re still--- you know--- buddies.”

    “Buddies,” Cas said it like it was a war crime.

    “Yeah, man, friends. Do you need me to pull up a dictionary on my phone?!” Dean was getting anxious. He didn’t know what exactly had set Cas down this path of questioning, but he was certain he needed it to end. So much for a quiet night.

    After a few weighted stares, Cas squinted and turned them down a different path. “Did me employing you negatively affect our relationship? Should I not have asked that of you?” 

    “Wait, that would have stopped you?” Dean asked, surprised by Cas’s sudden, if extremely late, realization.

    “I wouldn’t knowingly do anything to hurt our friendship, Dean. Has working here hindered you?” Cas asked apologetically.

    Dean’s mouth dropped open and his shoulders slumped. “Yeah, man. Working here--- everyone is great, don’t get me wrong--- but man I need a break. I wanted to help out here or there, but I’ve got no time for a life if I stay on.”

    “I see,” Cas sat back, poorly masking his own discomfort with Dean’s confession. “Look, I know I’m not the best at what I do. But I find it very hard to trust new people. Employees, especially, tend to let me down. I guess--- I guess I’ve relied on you for too long, Dean. I’m sorry if I’ve taken advantage.”

    Dean chuckled. “To be honest, I wouldn’t have minded if you had.”

    Missing the joke, Cas continued, “I am taking this conversation as your verbal resignation. I hope you will stay on for the customary two weeks time?”

    “You’re serious?” Dean asked, stunned.

    “You’re unhappy. I don’t want to cause you anymore grief,” Cas replied simply.

    “It wasn’t that bad, Cas.--- But, you gotta do something about Jack. Man up and light a fire under his ass, or just kick him to the curb until he’s ready to live up to the family business. You need to hire people who want to be here,” Dean offered. 

    Cas nodded dejectedly. “I know, I just have an awful gauge for people’s reliability from a simple interview. And past employers rarely ‘spill the tea’ as Bela would say.”

    Dean giggled, but stopped himself once he saw the worry in Cas’ eyes. “Hey, what if somebody does the interviews for you? I bet Jody would weed out the bad seeds before their asses ever hit the bar stool.”

    Cas was surprised by that option. “That could work. She is very intimidating.”

    “Right?!” Dean exclaimed, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. “So, we’re really doing this? Two weeks and I’m out?”

    “Yes, Dean. You’ve done more than I should have asked of you.” Cas stood and extended his hand.

    Dean grabbed it and pulled Cas in for a hug, their bound hands stuck between them. “Thanks, man. But, I’m glad it worked out. It will work out. This is gonna be good.”

    “And we’ll---,” Cas asked as they broke apart.

    “We’ll still be friends. Hell, if I’m free maybe we can reclaim our old table every once in a while,” Dean offered, patting Cas’s shoulder. A genuine smile crept across Dean’s face for the first time all day.

    “I’d like that,” Cas admitted as the safe alerted his time was up.

    The next morning, Sam held the door for Dean who was smirking as they walked in. Exhausted and needing the comfort of his favorite diner to fill his empty stomach, Dean agreed to Sunday breakfast with a seemingly none-the-wiser Sam, certain he'd be missing their weekly dinner with his parents for possibly the first time.

"Not that one. Let's see if there's a spot in the back," Sam muttered as Dean tried sitting in the first open booth he saw. 

"What? Why?" Dean groaned, but straightened up and followed Sam passed the bustling counter.

Sam lifted his chin and motioned Dean to the second to last spot. Slightly annoyed, Dean threw himself onto the bench seat, only to have Sam slide beside him, caging him in. 

"Glad you boys could make it," the all too familiar drawl of their father's voice greeted them from across the table.

Dean looked at Sam and cursed beneath his breath. Sam had the nerve to look guilty, but his puppy dog eyes didn't hold an ounce of potency now.

"Wow, Dad, I had no idea you'd be here. Funny coincidence, hey, Sammy?" Dean snarked.

"Shut up," Sam grumbled.

"I made him drag you here, Dean. So if you wanna be pissed, be pissed at me," John began. "I ordered your usuals, to give us some privacy. It seems we need to talk."

Tagging: @flamencodiva​​ @dolphincliffs​​ @dontshootmespence​​ @fookinghelljensensthighs​​ @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis​​ @cosicas-cuquis​​ @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @wingedcatninja​​ @defenderrosetyler​​ @ericaprice2008  @crashdevlin​​  @mylovelydame21 @cajunquandary​​ @itmighthavebeenintentional​​​ @thoughtslikeaminefield​​ @there-must-be-a-lock @tatted-trina6​ @cracksinthewalls​​ @atc74​​    

Series Masterlist

SPN Masterlist

Tell me what you think!

Next Chapter: Giving Up

[tthael]

I really admire so many things about your writing - the introspection and deep meaning, the realistic and sensitive way that you handle topics. Do you have any recs for fav media/books/tv shows/fanfics ? I guess I'm curious if there are any you think might have similar qualities/themes?

This is a tough one because basically everything I consume gets picked apart and reused in some way. However, I’ll give it a shot:

The Book Thief and I Am the Messenger by Markus Zusak. There’s quite a lot I like about Zusak’s use of language and have since 2007 when I read The Book Thief for the first time, and there’s something very cinematic and magical about I Am the Messenger (particularly in the chapter with the young track runner).

The Bone Clocks by David Mitchell. He’s most commonly known for Cloud Atlas, but he has an ongoing theme of vampires and cannibalism reappearing in his work (I just read Slade House for the first time while I was in quarantine) and there’s something deeply satisfying about the way that all of the disparate pieces come to fruition at the climax of The Bone Clocks. Not a perfect book, but deeply satisfying.

The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver. Again, she’s most commonly known for The Poisonwood Bible, but I liked that well enough to read The Lacuna in 2013, and I completely hated it for the first half of the book until finally something clicked in my brain and I activated the literary critic within, who doesn’t care so much about whether they enjoy something and more cares about how well something is done. The description of US American rationing during World War II really got me onto the novel’s side, if that makes sense; and I do love a good family epic, and while this only focuses on one protagonist instead of generations of them, it’s interesting in a similar way to The Bone Clocks where you see everything start to snowball together.

Literally anything by Ursula Vernon/T. Kingfisher. I particularly recommend The Raven and The Reindeer, which I read shortly after being diagnosed with my chronic illness and really helped me to understand the irrelevance of shame. There’s something very satisfying about saying “a reindeer doesn’t care if it smells bad, so I’m going to lean into that particular apathy and not allow a bully to take me down over it.” Something comforting about taking shelter in the animal and in survival, when you and your body are in one place and working on the same side, and it’s your brain that’s ready to give up first but your body will keep dragging you through because that’s what it does. Certain lines in Indelicate were inspired by her adaptation of Tam Lin in Jackalope Wives and other Stories (https://www.amazon.com/Jackalope-Wives-Other-Stories-Kingfisher-ebook/dp/B071946RLN). Lots of her short stories are available at this link for free: http://www.redwombatstudio.com/portfolio/writing/short-stories/

TV’s a little harder to unpack, since I don’t always think in terms of visual media, I tend to default to words first. Recently I’ve been enjoying New Amsterdam on NBC--it’s nice to see the radical socialist doctor doing his damnedest to secure the right thing--and Call the Midwife--similar reasons. There’s a lot about meeting someone where they are in both shows that I appreciate.

There’s also a lot of music that inspires my writing so I’ll have to dedicate a post specifically to that in my methods and materials.

Fanfic, though! Lots of my favorites, lots of genres. Here we go:

we are all stardust by synergenic (Losseflame) (https://archiveofourown.org/works/5682496) Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, pairing Finn/Poe Dameron. Sexually explicit, but also leans a lot into physicality. You can probably see the influence on the very first chapter of Indelicate when Eddie’s waking up in pain and Richie’s at his bedside. It’s very much inspired by a similar sickbed scene here.

If They Haven’t Learned Your Name by silentwalrus (https://archiveofourown.org/works/6329503) Captain America/Marvel Cinematic Universe Steve Rogers/James “Bucky” Barnes. The holy grail of Steve/Bucky fanfiction. If you want independent character exploration, this is the place to go. Natasha shaving her head? Yes. Sam pleading with Steve to keep his shit together while thirty Koren grandmothers assume they are American celebrities? Yes. Bucky defiantly hunting down his sense of self while bingeing romance novels in a space ship? Yes. Pay particular attention to the Sam chapters, because they’re a beautiful way of defining Steve’s characterization from an outside perspective, and I’m trying to do the same with Eddie looking at Richie in Indelicate.

An Ever-Fixed Mark by AMarguerite (https://archiveofourown.org/works/8523001) Pride & Prejudice (Jane Austen) Elizabeth Bennet/Colonel Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy. Soulmark AU. This is one of my longtime favorite fanfictions and what it taught me was cause and effect. The characters move the plot forward based on their assumptions and decisions. Definitely very helpful when I was writing TTHAEL by the seat of my pants.

You Can Keep Holding On by NorthernSparrow (https://archiveofourown.org/works/7233709) Supernatural Dean Winchester/Castiel. Sexually explicit. A lot of the summary I can give here is spoilers, but if you read this one through, you’ll be able to see the inspiration for the “Can you tell me where I can get another Eddie Kaspbrak?” scene in Indelicate.

Work of All Saints by antistar_e (kaikamahine) (https://archiveofourown.org/works/15006644) Coco (2017) Imelda Rivera/Héctor Rivera/Ernesto de la Cruz. Sexually mature. Oh my GOD this is a beautiful coming-of-age story set in turn-of-the-century Oaxaca, this is the best complete expansion of canon that I’ve ever seen; the author takes the pieces and runs with them and it is WONDERFUL.

Lycanthropic Studies by Eiiri (https://archiveofourown.org/series/575263) Harry Potter, Remus Lupin/Sirius Black canon-divergence AU. I very much enjoy the meditation on lycanthropy as a chronic illness and I sometimes reread this for comfort. Particularly early on Remus has a rant about how he’s sick and he’s always sick and his life doesn’t stop for it, despite holidays and birthdays he still has to deal with the consequences of his illness and take the devastating medication, and there’s a lot about that that speaks to me. I haven’t kept up with the series for some time, though.

Careful Truths by SassySnowperson (https://archiveofourown.org/works/12111966) Rogue One: A Star Wars Story, Bodhi Rook/Luke Skywalker canon-divergence AU. Sexually explicit. Honestly identity p!rn fics are a good inspiration for that third-person limited perspective I’ve been working on in Indelicate. Also I love love LOVE Bodhi Rook. It’s fun watching him run in circles trying to conceal his identity from Luke while completely oblivious to Luke doing exactly the same thing.

Stammtisch by chaya (https://archiveofourown.org/works/15060152) Critical Role: Season 2, Caleb Widogast/Mollymauk Tealeaf, AU. Sexually explicit. Long before Caleb actually leveled up enough to cast Mordenkainen’s Magnificent Mansion, chaya speculated about what kind of spaces he might create for each of his friends. I think it’s a very good resource for really condensing characterization down into lots of images and concepts and deciding what other characters know about them. The idea of making space for someone else is something that I lean into a lot when I write Ben, who’s the kind of man who will set himself on fire to keep those he loves warm, and even though Critical Role has far more material than even IT for determining characterization, and even though this particular moment has already occurred in canon--it’s just a wonderful homey story, and has the kind of found family vibes I like for the Losers as well.

I know that’s a lot to unpack there, but all of those fics are very good and I recommend reading any assortment that appeals to you. (Work of All Saints in particular you don’t have to be familiar with the source material beyond the basic premise; it stands on its own.) Thank you for asking, and thank you for reading!

[sitruunavohveli]

So I’ve been thinking about this for a few days and I’m just going to say it now. I’ve not done any media studies in my life, I studied environmental sciences ffs, so do not expect any sources or scientific analysis. This is just me being so fucking done and annoyed with everything after years of being a fan of things and always been low key ridiculed about my fandom interests by creators and even some other fans and ranting about it.

I’m so fucking done with heteronormativity and queerbaiting. I’m so fucking done with “will they, won’t they” relationships ALWAYS ending with “will ofc, duh” if the couple is a man and a woman and with “nah, don’t be ridiculous” or “wellllll, it could be INTERPRETED that way but… oops, they died anyway so it doesn’t MATTER, does it?” with queer couples. I’m so old I’ve seen this happen many, many, MANY times.

The thing is. I read comments on facebook and twitter where some fans still insisted that Cas saying “I love you” to Dean meant like BROTHERS and “stop bringing that gay shit into everything” and those comments weren’t RARE. Like. If the same scene, THE EXACTLY SAME SCENE, happened between a male character and a female character there would be NO PEOPLE saying it’s “sibling love”. There would be no people saying it’s not romantic AND sexual.

(I mean. It doesn’t have to be sexual, but it clearly is romantic. I’d need to write its own post about asexual/graysexual/demisexual erasure and lack of representation in media, because fuck that as well. But this is not that post.)

This shit is NOT NEW either. I grew up with Harry Potter like so many did. (Fuck JKR btw. Despite the author I’m still going to use HP as an example, because that’s easy for me.) The problem is that people are so much more comfortable with straight relationships, straight being the norm, assumed straightness. When you look at a random list of HP fanfiction relationships I swear that the queer ones seem “ridiculous” and “far-fetched” to most of the heteronormative fanbase. Harry/Hermione is a completely normal thing to ship and “they should have ended up together!” is not a controversial take. Even Harry/Luna seems reasonable. But let’s point out how Ron was “the one he’ll surely miss” or Harry running after Draco for all of the sixth year (“rapidly becoming obsessed with Draco Malfoy”), or that Remus and Sirius lived and gave Christmas gifts together, and I can almost hear everyone sighing “it doesn’t mean LIKE THAT, STOP MAKING EVERYTHING GAY”.

I’m not just tired of the queerbaiting and never seeing any same-sex relationships between main characters as plausible UNLESS THE WHOLE THING IS ABOUT SEXUALITY. (And yeah, there are SIDE CHARACTERS that are awesome and queer and just living their life, but making a main character queer while they’re just living their life and fighting bad guys and falling in love? Yeah no. Why would we ever want to have that! Why would we ever want to give the idea that queer people are JUST PEOPLE LIVING THEIR LIFE AND NOT JUST SIDE CHARACTERS?) I’m also just as fucking tired of ALWAYS reading every friendship between a man and a woman as a romantic one despite it being completely platonic. JUST TREAT THE RELATIONSHIPS THE SAME. STOP READING THEM DIFFERENTLY JUST BASED ON WHAT YOU ASSUME IS IN THEIR PANTS.

Back to HP. Even the “Dumbledore was gay all along” thing was shitty, because it would have been SO FUCKING EASY to just make Albus/Gellert canon IN THE BOOKS. Just ONE hint from Rita Skeeter on one page about the relationship or possible love/lust between them would have been enough. The MORE shitty thing however was when they asked about canon Albus/Gellert being possibly a thing in the Fantastic Beasts movies and TPTB were like “uhhhh, we hadn’t planned on it…”

Then there was Merlin. Five seasons of destiny and being two sides of the same coin and almost a love confession… until Arthur dies. And Merlin waits him for 1500+ years. (Btw when Rory did the same for Amy in Doctor Who, it was explicitly romantic.) Then there was Sherlock. Yeah, need I say more?

And now Dean/Cas. With just a few additional lines it would have been fine. It would have been the greatest slow burn love story ever. (I mean… it still is for those who see it. Just not explicitly for everyone. For many, many fans it’s still “take that gay fanfic shit away, THEY’RE LIKE BROTHERS”.) My lovely bisexual Dean Winchester would have been the bi icon he deserves to be. The growth of a man who for all of his life had to pretend to only be tough and hyper masculine just to SURVIVE and who hid all the femininity and weakness and insecurity and sadness and love under the tough-ass shell, who kicks fucking ass and finds men AND women* attractive. All the jokes about Dr Sexy and Dean’s cowboy thing and gay thing WOULD CANONICALLY NOT HAVE BEEN JOKES.

(*Sorry, non-binary friends. Your representation in media is even more awful and should also be written into a completely different post.)

So I’m tired. And annoyed. And so so so done.

Fuck heteronormativity. Fuck all the creators and TPTB for gaslighting us. Fuck them all for caring more about what conservative white straight cis males possibly think than what their actual fanbase thinks. Fuck them all for making us believe that true representation is possible. Fuck them all for not ever giving us the queer happy ending we deserve.

[sophielovesbarnes]

All or Nothing

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Winchester!reader

Warnings: none yet

Author note: Hello! ❤️ so this idea has been running on my mind for months and I hadn’t brought myself to write it, but due to the COVID my classes are cancelled which has me with a lot of spare time in my hands.

The story will make a kind of crossover with Supernatural, pretty much I will be using some of the characters in a AU.

Please let me know what do you think and dm me if you want to be tagged.

Chapter one.

You’ve always loved this; the adrenaline that rushes through your veins when you are thrown into the air and you fly so high that it feels like you are going to touch the stars, the excitement that fills you with every jump, the rush you get when you listen to the joyful voices that surround you, cheering every move you make, the smile on your teammates' faces that assures you that they are as passionate about this as you are.

These are the great things about being a cheerleader, things that not many people see or understand; you’ve been called vain, bimbo, basic, the thing is that you don’t people that have never felt this emotion will ever understand.

They won’t understand the sacrifices needed to get there, to make every move coordinated, the weeks of practice behind fifteen minutes on the stage; they wouldn’t understand the permanent calluses and blisters covering your feet and hands, feeling your muscles so weak as noodles after practice, the hours of training devoted everyday, the sweat, the blood and the tears; but those fifteen minutes, God, they made you feel like heaven.

**

After the music ends, signalling the end of the halftime you and your squad head back to the edge of the field, waving hello and throwing kisses back and forward.

When you finally reach your bench, you throw yourself to your water bottle and feel the relief of it’s cold contents hydrating your throat.

"It went well." Ingrid says, you can see her chest going up and down rapidly and short black hairs sticking to her sweaty forehead. "Truth be told I really thought I was gonna mess up that basket."

"Double kicks are a bitch." You agree and take one last sip from your water bottle, after you both catch your breath and both football teams are on their spot ready to start the next time you put down your bottle and grab your pom poms, preparing yourself to keep everyone's spirits up until the end of the game. "Ready?"

"Let’s do this." She smiles, and you both go back to position chanting and cheering for your team.

Forty-five minutes later, the crowd erupts into claps and screams when your team scores their last touchdown making them victors of this game, the squad jumps into hugs celebrating your victory.

The game is over and everyone starts to abandon the bleachers, so you take your bag and head to the locker rooms followed by the rest of the team, discussing what went well and wrong on the routine, the pre-spring break stress that’s building up, how cute the linebreaker looked, but mostly everyone is talking about the upcoming celebration party.

When you get to your locker, you untie your ponytail, letting your head recover it’s proper blood flow, you get undressed, carefully folding your uniform and proceed to step into the shower. The hot water loosens up your muscles and brings you to a sleepy point of relaxation. You finish showering and step out, wrapping your body with a fluffy white towel.

"Are you sure you’re not going to Liam’s party?" A tall brunette girl asks as she walks behind you. “It’s the event of the year.”

"Thanks Alice but I really want to attend the FBI lecture tomorrow and a hangover would keep me from actually paying attention." You reply simply as you get dressed and pack the rest of your stuff into your bag.

"Well I’m sure Liam will miss you." She implies. "He was very enthusiastic about having you there."

"He’ll survive." You give her a playful smile and throw the strap of your bag over your shoulder. "Night girls see you tomorrow."

They reply almost in chorus and, you wave goodbye walking out from the locker room, spinning your car keys on your finger. The parking lot is almost empty, most people are either back on their dorm rooms or on their way to Liam’s party, so the way back to your apartment is peaceful, just the sound of the wheels rolling on the road and the wind running through the windows.

Originally you lived on the dorm rooms like most of the squad, but at the beginning of this school year your brothers had surprised you buying an apartment just for you, quoting Dean's words it was easier to concentrate on your own space and you deserved a nice and private place to live, after all, you had a full scholarship ride so you didn’t have to worry about paying tuition.

Truth be told, you really liked the apartment; the building is fifteen minutes away from your school, and your neighbors are nice and quiet. When you first got the place, you, Dean, Sam, and Adam had spent an entire weekend painting the walls, decorating and equipping the place so it could fit all your necessities.

The kitchen is right next to the entrance door, behind it it’s the living room, there’s only one loveseat and the tv is in front of it, there are photographs everywhere, your brothers are on the most of them, there’s one from your first competition, you are sitting on Dean’s shoulders, holding high the trophy you and your squad won, Sam and Adam hugging Dean from each side, there’s one from your graduation, the KU game where Dean finally decided to introduce you to and your brothers to Castiel, next to it is the one from their wedding, there’s also one from your prom where you and your ex where crowned king and queen for the last time; you still keep the crown and the band displayed on your room.

You love the apartment, even though you live alone and far from Kansas and your brothers, they made it feel like home.

You leave your keys and your bag next to the door and then head to your bedroom where you strip out of your clothes and put on your pjs, you fall asleep the second your head touches the pillow.

The next morning your alarm starts beeping exactly at 6 o’clock, you have made a cocoon in the blankets that’s so warm and comfortable that you refuse to move, but eventually the beeping sound off the alarm becomes unbearable and you know for a fact that if you don’t get up from your bed soon you are going to be late for class; so you begrudgingly get up from the bed and slam the button of the alarm turning it off.

One hour later your hair and your makeup are neatly done, you have replaced your pajamas with jeans and a white bustier with puff sleeves, and you are ready to step out if the door, bag on one hand and coffee on the other one.

When you get to the auditorium, your best friend Maia is already there saving a seat for you, you distinguish her from her curly hair and her cinnamon skin, she smiles at you when she sees you.

“You’re late.” You drop your bag on the chair next to her and then take a seat.

“My bed and I were too comfortable together this morning.”

“I getcha.” She replies, her New York accent marked on her words. “Are you excited?”

“Totally, I’ve been looking towards this lecture for weeks.”

A few minutes later three men step on the stage, accompanied by the principal, there’s a man in his sixties, with black hair and a kind smile, you know he is David Rossi, you have re-read his book over and over since you were little. There’s also a bald black man, and you can almost see his muscles through his shirt.

But the third man is the one who has your complete attention.

You’re completely fascinated with him from the second he steps into the podium, there’s something on his messy brown hair, his shy smile, and the way he fidgets nervously with his fingers that makes your heart flutter.

A few moments later the room starts to fill and when every seat is taken the older man takes a spot on the podium and clears his throat.

“Good morning, I am Agent David Rossi, and these are my partners, agent Derek Morgan and Doctor Reid.” He points at each of the men and they both give a courteous nod.

“Research, casework, and training to hunt down monsters, rapists, terrorists, pedophiles, and our specialty, serial killers.” Agent Rossi turns his back and lets agent Morgan continue.

“Does anybody here know what a serial killer is and what makes it different from a spree killer or a mass murderer?” He asks, and you raise your hand almost immediately, he grants you the word and you smile.

“A mass murderer is someone who kills four or more people on the same location and on the same time period, spree killers murder two or more victims on different locations and they don’t have a cooling period.” You reply. “Serial killers have three or more victims; they usually select the victim with anticipation and there is a cooling period between each murder.”

“It’s very good, by statue three is the magic number, and it’s actually more qualitative than quantitative for us.”

“Today we’re gonna talk about how some serial killers get made.” Rossi continues, “Because if you can understand that, then you can figure out a way to catch them.”

After that Morgan proceeds to introduce two girls, both victims of the same serial killer; whom as Rossi describes as the most prolific killer they’ve had.

“One thing you should understand is that no two killers are the same, they each occupy their own point on the behavioral spectrum.” After listening to agent’s Reid’s rapid voice, you officially consider yourself a goner. “Genetics, brain chemistry, psychology, and environment are all factors.”

“We believe that this particular killer grew up in an environment so adverse that he never had a chance.” Morgan adds. “He endured years of cruel and abject physical abuse as well as horribly profound psychological abuse.”

“Now let me be clear, most abused kids do not turn into killers, but this particular unknown subject, or unsub suffered extreme abuse and it has everything to do with why he does what he does.” Agent Rossi explains, after that they project the images from the unsub’s murder scenes and they give the details of his MO.

“I’m gonna be sick.” Maia whispers to you as she covers her eyes and retreats into her seat to avoid watching the gruesome pictures displayed on the wall.

When they finish explaining the case, sharing the details and the profiling process they open the podium for questions, again you are the first and only one to raise your hand.

“Yes? Miss…”

“Winchester.” You complete “So, you said that not all abused kids become killers, but what is the breaking point where some of them do and some don’t?”

“The majority of the most prolific and dangerous serial killers were genetically disposed to behave antisocially and furthermore grew up in an environment that cultivated a disregard for the lives of others.” Agent Reid answers “One gene in particular is linked with an increased risk of violent or aggressive behavior; monoamine oxidase A, it controls the production of a protein that breaks down brain-signaling chemicals like dopamine, noradrenalin, and serotonin, which all influence mood, there’s a variant of the gene called MAOA-L, it causes people to produce less

of the protein that breaks down these signaling chemicals, which in turn causes them to build up. An excess of these chemicals, leads to impulsive behavior; such as hypersexuality, sleep disorders, mood swings, and violent tendencies.

“So it can be inherited?”

“The heritability of the antisocial personality disorder is estimated to be 0.38. Heritability is the proportion of differences in traits in a population that are due to genetic differences as opposed to differences in the environment. A heritability of 0.38 tells us that, on average, about 38 percent of the individual differences that we observe in degree of “sociability” or “anti-sociability" are in some way attributable to individual genetic differences.”

“Thank you.” You smile at him, and you can swear there’s a pink blush coloring his cheeks as he smiles back at you.

There are just a couple more questions, most of them directed to morbid curiosity about the case, when they are done answering, agent Rossi opens an invitation to all the attendees to join the FBI, which brings a query about the requirements and the preparation his team had; again, Spencer is the one who answers.

“Most of us have done extensive postgraduate work in areas such as abnormal psychology, and sociology, as well as an intensive study of relative casework and existing literature.” He keeps his hands in the pocket of his navy blue pants.

“But that is after the selection to the unit, first you have to be an agent, work in a field, and that’s what we are here to talk about.” Spencer retreats himself to the back of the stage, almost leaning against the wall. “For that, the academics are wide open, everyone in this room, once you graduate; regardless of your course study; is eligible to apply to the FBI.”

“What did you study?” The guy wearing the Cardinals hoodie, sitting two rows behind you asks.

“Criminal justice, but sports appreciation was all full up at my Community College.” There’s a soft general laugh, but you can’t take your eyes from the Doctor.

“And you Doctor Reid?” You ask, looking him straight in the eyes. “What did you study?”

“I-I hold doctorates in Chemistry, Mathematics and Engineering, as well as BAs in psychology and sociology.”

“You’re drooling.” Maia mocks in a whispered tone, causing you to blush.

“Shut it.” You whisper as you try to slow down your heart rhythm. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-four as of last month, thirty-four; I, I also completed an additional BA in Philosophy, which reminds me that I have a joke.” He chuckles nervously and keeps talking “How many existentialists take to screw in a lightbulb? Two, one to change the lightbulb and one to observe how it symbolizes an incandescent beacon of subjectivity in another world of cosmic nothingness.”

You giggle softly, but the rest of the room seems to remain silent, Maia looks at you with an eyebrow raised like she is trying to figure you out.

“It’s fun, you know? Because that’s what existentialists do.” You explain on a murmur.

The silence of the spectators makes Spencer shift timidly and he starts to speak again, trying to explain the joke when he gets cut off by agent Rossi.

“Okay, before he does his Quantum Physics knock-knock joke.” This is what makes the class laugh while you stay quiet “Do we have any other questions about opportunities in the FBI?”

There are only a couple more questions, and when the lecture is over Morgan and Rossi find themselves surrounded by curious students, and girls fussing over them, Spencer stays alone and he starts to pack his things on his bag, you take a deep breath and make your way down towards him.

“That was really interesting.” Your voice seems to startle him, he turns around and runs his fingers through his hair messing it up just a bit more. “I really enjoyed it.”

“Uh thanks, Miss Winchester.”

“Y/N is fine.”

“Y/N.” He repeats and changes his weight from one foot to the other. “You seemed interested in the BAU.”

“I am, I mean, I still have a couple years left in college but joining the FBI does sound interesting.”

“Well, if you have any more doubts, you can... you know, call.” He hands you a white card with the FBI emblem on it, as well as his name and phone number; you take the card without breaking eye contact and give him a coy smile.

“Will do.”

A/N: so that’s it, please let me know what do you think ❤️

[lest-we-be-liars]

Doomsday: A letter to the younger Destiel shippers.

Let's travel back, way back, to 2006. There I am. A closeted 15 year old, who just lost someone she loved in a tragic way. I was an emo kid in a literal cow town. These were not happy times. It was hard for me to find joy in many things, but I had music, and I had my fandoms. The shiniest of all, at that moment, was the new reboot of Doctor Who.

I was into it, really into it. It was about the time my unhealthy escapism started to manifest. The real world was bleak, but on the TV, The Doctor always saved the day, with Rose by his side. I knew he loved her. He had tried to say it so many times, but failed. But that was okay, because their friendship was beautiful and they always had eachother.

Enter Doomsday.

Rose is trapped in an alternate universe. They only have a few minutes to say goodbye. With tears in her eyes, Rose finally confesses her love, something the fans knew the whole time. I wait in anticipation as a sad smile spreads across The Doctor's face, he begins to speak, here it is, the moment I have waited for. My heart is racing as I know they are about to be separated forever, but at least the words will said. At least they will know that the love was always there. And then it happens.

"Rose Tyler, I....." and then the transmission cuts out and the Doctor is left, standing alone in the TARDIS, the words left unsaid, hanging in the air as he takes an unsteady breath. Rose is gone, and he will never get to tell her how he felt.

I cannot begin to explain how that messed me up back then. Obviously things got better in the show and in real life. I grew up and found happiness and still found joy in watching my favorite shows, but as for new ones? I was apprehensive to watch anything I didn't know the ending to, because I wasn't sure I could handle getting emotionally attached to fictional characters like that again.

Then I was forced into watching Supernatural.

I knew the characters died and came back because I started watching several seasons in. I was okay with it. I fell in love with Dean in the beginning, until I started season 4. Then Castiel walked into my life. I hadn't connected with a character like that ever! I adored that dorky yet dangerous angel so much, it was stupid. Then, I learned about Destiel. I thought it was stupid and delusional. I had been brainwashed by heteronormativity. I also didn't want to get my hopes up again. Eventually, after paying attention to their interactions with the knowledge that some people saw them as romantic, I began to see it for myself. And down the rabbit hole I fell.

Fast forward to last year, when the boys announced the ending. I was sad of course, but I knew it was coming. Like everyone else, I began thinking about the ending I wanted for these characters. I wanted Sam to be free to live his apple pie life. I wanted Dean to realize that he was worth so much more than he that he was. And I wanted Castiel to know he was loved.

Not romantically. I just wanted him to know that he was loved by the Winchesters. By Jack. Everyone. I wanted him to know he mattered.

DESPAIR!!!!

14 years after the most heartbreaking television scene of my young life, I find myself watching the same thing happen all over again. Castiel, about to be stuck in an alternate plane of existence, tearfully confessing his love for Dean Winchester, only to be torn away before anything could be said back.

I didn't need a love confession. I didn't need reciprocation. I didn't care if it was said out loud or even acknowledged. I knew, and that's what mattered.

Then they pulled THAT!

And now I need it. But not for me.

While it is true, that I have spent this last week going out of my mind feeling like I'm 15 again, this isn't at all about me. I found my happiness. I found my peace. This is about the kids who don't know that love isn't something that goes away as soon as it's said out loud. This is about the kids who have found comfort in these characters because real life is too hard to deal with. This is for the kids who need to know that it's okay to be who you are and love who you love. This is for the kids who need to know that, just because everything seems bleak right now, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. This is for my scared, sad fifteen year old self, who needed to be reassured that things do get better. Happiness does exist and you can find it in the oddest places, and it doesn't always happen when you're looking for it, but when it finds you, none of the bad stuff even matters. I need it to happen for them, because it took way too long to happen for me. This is for the kids who just need hope.

TL/DR: Young Destiel shippers, I see you, I've been there, and I want this for you so bad. But if it doesn't happen the way you want it to, always remember, there is still hope for you. This fandom has created a worlds for you and you can find comfort in those. Just because it's over, doesn't mean the story has to end. Know that there is love out there for all of us, even of you have to make it yourself.

You Are Not Alone.